


The Last Spark

by Bezvitrenno



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caretaking, Chicken Soup, Christmas Eve, Crying Castiel (Supernatural), Crying Dean Winchester, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Violence, Embarrassed Dean Winchester, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Illnesses, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Monopoly (Board Game), Movie Night, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Slow Burn, Touching, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, Winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 57,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25708108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bezvitrenno/pseuds/Bezvitrenno
Summary: "Many things have happened, but that emptiness that haunts him wherever he goes, so ironically filling his soul, remained right there and Dean never spoke about it, didn't let anyone understand and feel it too.He knew that there would never be such a person to whom he could entrust it, who could save him from it, completely free him. He knew there would never be anybody who would need him the way he is. Dean was completely sure of it.At least up until recently. "ORAU where after the end of 11th season Dean catches a flu and Castiel is taking care of him as they both realize their feelings towards each other.ORDean's past opens from a completely different perspective releasing all the trauma he had packed up in him for years. Fighting with it seems like the only way to continue moving towards the future.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 27
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by JustLee.

Love is expressed by caring - Dean realized this during his childhood. It hides in little things - in hot chicken soup with a few bay leaves and black pepper, in quiet lullabies before softly saying goodnight, in a mug of chamomile tea with a slice of cherry pie, in forehead kisses and warm hugs on cold rainy evenings.

When he was very young Dean often felt love from his mother: from the way she looked at him, how melodiously she pulled the letter “e” in his name when she called him to her, in her laugh and smile, in the gentle stroking on his head. Love was shown in her every action, it was everywhere, in every corner of their little house in Lebanon, where it was always cozy and warm, despite the weather outside the window. Even if a hurricane raged on the street or loud peals of lightning made the sky shine with silver tints. Dean was not afraid, because he always knew that his mother would only need to run her hand through his blond hair and gently ruffle it in order to finally give him a lingering sense of calmness.

It was heaven on earth, an idyll, a carefree childhood that seemed to have no end. This had to go on every day, week, month, hundreds and hundreds of times over the course of several years. Dean was supposed to have the life of a happy and self-confident boy, a fan of typewriters and board games.

But fate did not give him a choice, made sure it happened the other way. It, like a guillotine, cut it all off, got rid of everything that made him a child and forced him to grow up all too soon.

That very night, when their warm, cozy home instantly turned into scorching hot and black smoke rushed to fill their lungs, Dean realized that nothing would ever be the same. Mom was gone, Dad was broken and introduced cheap whiskey into his diet, constantly hitting him in the head and making him aggressive, but Sammy was the worst. Sammy never reached the age of tasting his mother's pie or playing with a soccer ball in the backyard, he didn't even have a chance to know what it was like to be happy. If only he could feel it for a short while, if only for a couple of seconds.

Dean took on a burden that his father could not bear - Dean was an older brother, but he had to become both a father and a mother for Sam when he was only four years old. Their childhood was gone, and with it the feeling of being loved, of deserving love.

Time passed, he got used to it, got used to a slight pulling pain with each breath, got used to crying at night while everyone was asleep, got used to being who life wanted him to be. Many years have passed and Dean got a new home with a cozy atmosphere, he got warm slippers and a gray cotton robe, which he absolutely adored, and Sam is now a muscle giant who makes him coffee in the morning. Many things have happened, but that emptiness that haunts him wherever he goes, so ironically filling his soul, remained right there and Dean never spoke about it, didn't let anyone understand and feel it too.

He knew that there would never be such a person to whom he could entrust it, who could save him from it, completely free him. He knew there would never be anybody who would need him the way he is. Dean was completely sure of it.

At least up until recently.

It was winter, only three weeks before Christmas. While ordinary people began to slowly stock up on Christmas tree decorations and went on trips to visit their relatives, the Winchester brothers investigate another case.  
People, regardless of age and gender, even from the most healthy state, picked up a strange disease and entered a state of severe coma all in one day. Every time Sam and Dean got close to a clue, everything turned upside down and they had to start over. The number of patients only increased, so they decided to split up. Sam stayed in the motel and sat 24/7 in a dusty room with a laptop and books, taking only coffee breaks and around two hours of sleep while Dean was in the hospital, interrogating and guarding patients in case whoever had done this to them decided to collect the resulting "crop". More and more patients were arriving, new information was constantly coming in, so Dean simply could not afford to sleep for even a couple of minutes. People lives were at stake, sleep could wait. In addition to mystically sick people, there were also regular ones: a guy with a plaster cast who came there every day and in a fit of panic tried to ask the doctors whether he would have to have his arm amputated, even though just a couple of his fingers were broken. His mother was always there, kind words of reassurance at ready. A girl with pneumonia, who had a pink plush elephant that she did not let go from her hands. All the beds were occupied by other patients, so she had to do painful IVs while sitting, but she never complained or cried, just squeezed the elephant with her tiny free hand a little tighter than usual. Besides them there were a couple of the most common flu patients and people who came for blood tests.

Day after day everything repeated itself, Dean didn't sleep for three days and felt disgusting, but still he never backed down or closed his eyes. It all ended when Sam finally called him and said that they were dealing with Morena - the pagan god of illness and cold, the one he took care of.  
Dean did not leave until he was convinced that people were successfully coming out of the coma and feeling well.

The drive back home was a long way, Sam was driving, letting Dean sleep in the back seat. Sam was insanely tired too, but Dean needed sleep. The weather was fine: not too cold, but there was snow everywhere. Cities were lit with lights, and colorful shop signs flashed along the way. Sam enjoyed the picture, watching some guys outside carefully dragging Christmas tree along the way, children playing snowballs and just people walking down the street talking to each other. Sam was in a good mood, they were able to help so many people today, all of them will have a real Christmas. Dean rubbed his eyes when they finally drove past St. Lewis. He literally slept no more than two hours.  
Sam was about to say something about it when he noticed that Dean turned pale and quickly covered his mouth with his hand, begging Sam to stop. They turned on the side of the road, Dean jumped out of the car and ran to the nearest tree.

He was vomiting.

Sam could hear Dean trying to breathe in between gusts. He was gripping the tree branch tightly, trying to stay on his feet, until he fell to his knees. He began to shake, while the contents of his stomach continued to spill out. The snow seeped through his jeans and melted, bringing more discomfort, some rocks on the ground also were trying to bury themselves into his leg as deeply as they could. Dean simply didn't have the strength to get back on his feet. Sam clearly understood that this was no ordinary vomiting due to fatigue that sometimes happens, it looked like something more serious. Sam tried to go up to Dean to help him in some way, pick him up or at least hold him, but Dean just pushed him away with his hand and as soon as he could and said: "I can be contagious, stay away." Sam took a few steps back.

Dean was right. If he caught something in that hospital, then he could infect another hunter. This can't be allowed. Sam went to the car and took out his phone. There was only one person, not quite human, who could help.  
Dean finally stopped. He crawled as far as he could, trying to catch his breath. His heart was beating too fast, and his muscles were contracting uncontrollably throughout his body, preventing him from recovering. His knees hurt, but he didn't pay attention to it. Sam wanted to run up to him, help him up, drag him into the car and get home as soon as possible, but he could not risk it. Someone had to do the job, those were the priorities. Sam sat on the hood of the car and waited for help.  
\- Sam, - Dean finally broke the silence, he couldn't speak loudly, so he just whispered, - I'm bored, turn on some music.  
Sam immediately climbed inside and, finding a cassette with light rock, inserted it into the player. The sound quietly poured out of the car radio, Dean exhaled and closed his eyes. He always did that when he was feeling bad, it was his typical give-me-a-few-minutes-and-everything-will-be-ok face, Sam knew that.  
\- Man, are you okay?, - He asked and sat across from him in the Impala's passenger seat turning his body so he was facing Dean.  
Dean sighed and whispered: - Yeah, I'm fine, give me a couple more minutes.  
He continued to keep his eyes closed and breathe deeply. Some time later another car stopped next to them and someone got out. Dean finally opened his eyes. It was enough for him to see the edge of the beige trench coat in order to understand who was in front of him.  
\- Hey, Cas, - Dean was able to say in a normal voice.  
\- Dean! - Castiel walked over to help him up.

He took Dean's hand and placed it around his neck, with his other hand he grabbed Dean's waist and moved towards the blue Toyota Yaris , which Cas had apparently arrived in. Dean could barely move his legs, so Cas guided him carefully and slowly, afraid to take a wrong step. Dean obediently followed with him until Cas felt the weight rise sharply on his shoulder. Castiel looked down at Dean's face: his eyes were closed. He was unconscious. Cas held him back and carefully picked him up. Sam helped open the back door of the car and Cas climbed in, placing Dean in the back seat. He raised the man's arms, carefully guiding the seatbelt between them. Dean looked like a porcelain doll in the dim lighting of the roadside lantern. Cas could not help but notice his pallor and huge gray circles under his eyes. He looked so defenseless. Castiel was scared, he has never seen him like that. Cas placed two fingers to Dean's neck. In response to the touch, he felt a pulsation, it was unstable, but it was there. Angel gently pressed his head against the glass and climbed out through another door. He exhaled deeply and quietly closed the door.

\- What happened here? You told me that he was feeling a little bad, it doesn't seem like "a little" to me! - Castiel couldn't control his emotions, for a second, he himself was surprised of how much he was scared of those, but Dean was in a terrible state.  
\- I didn't know that he was in such a bad condition, he woke up in the car, then he started to feel sick, that's all.  
\- What did you do before? I've never seen him like this. Did  
somebody curse him?  
\- No, we were on a regular hunt, dealing with a couple of patients at Center Point. He was in the hospital and didn't sleep well, but... Damn.  
\- What?  
\- He said that there were patients with the flu, he must have gotten infected. We need to get home quickly.

Cas was about to head back to the car when Sam spoke again.  
\- Stop, Cas, could you heal him? It's in your power, right?

Castiel stopped and turned back, he had to tell sooner or later about what happened.  
\- No, I can't .  
\- What do you mean "I can't", why?- Sam asked with bewilderment and irritation in his voice.  
\- I tried to find witches who had connections with Lucifer...  
\- I know about that. And? - Sam interrupted him.  
\- It didn't go as planned, they set up a trap. They put something like a spell on me to limit my powers, I can't use them, I've tried. - Cas rolled up the sleeve of his coat to show Sam a bandaged hand. The bandage was red in some places, it looked like blood was seeping through. - They managed to escape, I wanted to go after them, but you called and said that Dean was feeling bad, so I came here. I'm sorry but I can't cure him...

Castiel would be more than glad if he could help now. Seeing Dean like this... He wanted to put his fingers on his forehead and let the warm light do it's job, but he just couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to. Dean was sitting right behind him now, unable to even keep himself awake after he literally turned inside out on the sidelines.

\- Sorry. It's okay. But there's a bright side: he will be immune to the flu after that. - Castiel looked up and saw that Sam was smiling weakly. He didn't look good either. - Let's go home,- he added, and got into the Impala's driver's seat.

The engine roared and he moved. Cas wanted to do the same, but as soon as he turned towards the car, he saw Dean. His hands were in a slightly uncomfortable position, he himself was clearly disturbed in general. Cas took off his coat and folded it a couple of times. He made his way to Dean through the opposite door and put his coat under the man's head. That's a little better.

Four hours later, closer to dawn, they approached Lebanon. The first rays of the sun uncertainty began to pierce the horizon and smoothly illuminate everything around. The snow, taking on the light, gleamed in response, shone with shades of blue. Along the road was a coniferous forest, periodically interrupted by fields. Huge fir paws towered over them, as if wrapping them up and trying to hide from the sun. Every time the sun managed to reach the car windows, Cas couldn't help but stare at Dean. His blonde hair looked more like red now. A soft yellow light shone at him at such angle that Dean had shadows from his eyelashes on his cheeks. He looked beautiful, peaceful and relaxed. Castiel himself did not understand why he was thinking about it. Each time he forced himself to keep his eyes on the road, but again, unable to resist, looked at Dean through the mirror.

They finally arrived at the bunker. Castiel took Dean in his arms and carried him towards the door. Sam walked in front of them, ready to hold the door. Dean's head rested on Cas's shoulder, hair slightly covering his forehead, mouth parted. Dean looked so vulnerable. His left arm dangled at his side, while his right one was pressed against Cas' chest.  
Dean was surprisingly light. Cas had no problem carrying him in his arms.  
\- Is it okay, if he is so light? - Angel asked Sam, squinting slightly.  
\- He is light only to you, - Sam turned his back to him, but continued to speak, - I had to carry him from bars to motels a couple of times, after he passed out from alcohol ... He weighs like a huge fat-ass cow.  
Cas chuckled a little and looked at Dean again. He was still very light.  
Sam put down the bags and headed back towards the stairs.  
\- I’ll go to the pharmacy to get the medicine, will you be all right here without me?, - He asked.  
\- Yeah, I'll take him to his room.  
\- Fine, I'll be back soon.

Castiel walked down the hallway, constantly changing his position around the bends so that no corner would accidentally hit Dean. Kicking the door to his room with his foot, Cas brought him inside. He looked at Dean before placing him on the bed when he noticed him carefully opening his eyes and pulling his other hand towards him. The angel quickly laid him down on the bed. Trying to pull the covers over him, Cas finally came into contact with Dean's bare arm - it was hot. He immediately put his hand on Dean's forehead - he had a fever. As soon as the man was able to return to consciousness, he began to shake. He turned his gaze to Cas and smiled faintly.  
He was just about to say something, when Cas covered him with a blanket and said: "Don't get up, I'm going to get an antipyretic." Castiel ran out of Dean's room into the library. He went up to a metallic shelf and quickly took out a first aid kit. Flipping over the colored boxes of different drugs and bandages as quickly as possible, he pulled out what he needed. Taking a glass of water in the kitchen, he returned to the bedroom. Dean's jeans and socks were on the floor, wet with snow stains, he was covered with a blanket up to his waist. He was shaking, his teeth chattering, making a clattering sound. He grabbed the edges of the blanket with his hands, trying to breathe more smoothly to stop the shaking, but he clearly didn't succeed. The breathing was too loud and choppy.

Cas sat on his knees next to him and released the pill from the packaging when the expiration date caught his eye. It was overdue for a couple of days. He looked up and his gaze met Dean's. Even in the dim light, Cas could still make out bright green eyes that looked questioningly at him in response.  
\- It's a couple of days overdue, I'm sorry Dean, I can't give you this.  
\- A couple of days is nothing, - Dean said with difficulty, his teeth clicking against each other again.  
\- But ..  
\- I said it's nothing!, - Dean shouted. Cas gave him a pill, man quickly swallowed it. As soon as he tried to grab the glass with shaking hands, he accidentally spilled some water on Cas's shirt.  
\- S-s-sorry, - Dean said and gave glass back.  
\- It's okay, let me help you...

Castiel raised the glass so Dean could drink. Dean was clearly dehydrated after what happened on the road. He drank all the water and laid back down. Cas put the glass aside and watched Dean. He immediately closed his eyes. Gradually, his breathing restored, and the trembling went away. He was still shaking sometimes, but only inconsistently now. Cas didn't get up off the floor until he heard that Dean started sniffling. He pulled the blanket under his neck and brushed a few stray hairs out of his face. He finally looked serene. Castiel wanted to leave, but continued to stand there and watch him. He was very beautiful. Cas couldn't bring himself to dismiss the thought.

Finally he lifted Dean's jeans off the floor and left the room, whispering quietly: "Good night, Dean."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by JustLee.

Castiel was sitting in the library and working on Sam's laptop when he heard the front door creak open.  
\- I said I’ll be back soon, - Sam's voice echoed through the bunker.  
\- Hello.  
\- Did I miss something?- He asked, going down the stairs.  
Cas closed the laptop and sat down on the couch.  
\- Dean woke up with a fever. I gave him an antipyretic, but it seems to me that he is still in a very bad condition . He fell asleep again almost immediately.  
\- Dean is pretty much exhausted, so it's not surprising. Don't worry, he'll get better soon.  
\- I know, but still ...- Cas sighed and put his hands on his knees. - I can’t help him. He was shaking so badly ... I had to help you both. I should have been there.  


Sam went downstairs and put the bags down. He walked over to the table and sat down on a chair beside Castiel.  
\- No, Cas. You did everything right. It was me who should have swapped shifts with him. Even though he said he was okay, I should have pressed him. - He paused for a while and then continued, - In any case, finding Lucifer is far more important than a couple of patients in Indiana.  
\- I know, but I have never got anything out of them.  
\- It's not your fault, I'll deal with them. - Sam opened his laptop and started looking for something - You stay here with him for now. Essentially, you are the only one who is safe next to Dean right now, and he needs supervision. So you would be very helpful.  
\- Okay. - Cas smiled slightly and leaned back on the sofa, - What should I do before he wakes up?  
Sam was clearly very focused on something in the laptop, and therefore did not answer him immediately.  
\- I don't know .. Cook something, we have almost no normal food left. - Sam finally tore his eyes away from the laptop and looked at Cas, - If it's not difficult for you, of course.  
\- It's a great idea, I'll try my best!- Cas smiled.  
\- Well then, thanks. - Sam looked back at the screen.  
Castiel himself didn't understand what inspired him so much, but the very idea that he could cook something for Dean pleased him. This will be at least some contribution to his recovery, since he cannot use his powers. And Dean will probably be terribly hungry when he wakes up. Cas got off the couch and walked briskly into the kitchen.

Sam stayed in the library for a couple of minutes, until he realized that not only can't he understand what he was reading, but he simply doesn't remember what the article was about. Reports about strange attacks and deaths flashed before his eyes. He could not find even the slightest connection between them, and, even more, which of them would indicate the involvement of Lucifer.  
Sam is terribly tired. It was a long drive home, and he was worried about Dean. This entire week had been difficult, the motel chairs were not the most comfortable, and the coffee from the machine caused a gag reflex. Before that, there was a search for the devil, which also had little resemblance to a resort. He yawned, rubbing his eyes with his hands. He truly needed some rest.  


Leaving the library, he was walking past the kitchen when he suddenly stopped. Cas was there. His trench coat was hanging on a chair, he himself stood next to the stove in a white shirt. A couple of buttons on the top were undone, and a red apron was tied around his waist. It was tied a little tighter than necessary, which made his shirt wrinkle under the tension.  


Cas fumbled with the spices, gradually pouring the contents of the small bags into the pot. Apparently he was trying to make a soup. For some reason Sam was very amused by this, he knew exactly who would like to see Cas in this outfit. Hiding behind the door, he took out his phone. After taking a photo and sending it, he laughed slightly and walked further into his room.  


Dean didn't wake up the next day. Cas first went into his room every hour, checking if he was breathing normally, slightly moving the position of his hands so that they didn't go numb. He was very afraid that Dean would wake up alone. He didn't want to miss this moment. However, each time Dean just laid there with his eyes closed and snored softly. Sam said it was okay and it happens sometimes. Dean just needed time to gather his strength and finally recover. Diseases sometimes do this to people. After that, Cas came to him only once every two hours, but couldn't stop worrying less.  


Sam felt much better. After getting himself a ten-hour sleep, he was finally able to get the energy he needed. He spent most of the day on his laptop, and in the late afternoon he began to pack his things. He knew for a fact that Cas was very worried about Dean, so his schedule also included constant reminders that Dean would be fine soon.  


At about one a.m., Cas walked into Dean's room again. Moving his arms and legs to a new position, he sat down in an armchair across the bed just to observe. Before, when he could use his powers, he made himself invisible and just watched him. Sometimes Dean would sit in the library and clean weapons, sometimes he would sit in his room listening to music or cooking in the kitchen. Cas was there, looking after him. There were times when Dean forgot where he put his things, and then they inexplicably ended up in prominent places. Castiel was involved in this too. He took it as his job - just helping Dean with the little things. Yet he was not always there. Perhaps, learning of this, Dean would have been angry or embarrassed, so Cas carefully hid it, kept it as one of his biggest secrets. Dean often needed personal space or some alone time, Cas respected this and never violated these borders. And the angel is in his room again, Dean sleeps with his back to Cas. The blanket moves slightly due to his breathing. Castiel loves to look at him when he is like this. As if the fact that the whole world could come to an end at any moment no longer worried Dean, as if the endless salvation of people can finally be taken up by any other hunters, and not just him. Dean deserves a rest. He deserves to spend a couple of days apart from the place where he lives, to spend them somewhere in the depths of his mind.  


Cas finally left his room, carefully closing the door behind him so as not to disturb the man. He will have a lot of time with him in the coming days. This thought involuntarily made him smile. Castiel himself did not notice as he left the bunker and began to climb the hill next to it. Having reached the top, he stopped. It was way past the midnight, a light breeze slightly lifted the snowflakes lying below and carried them a little further. For the first time in a long time, Cas felt cold. The sensation was like hundreds of small needles pricking his body. Others in his place would immediately try to go back and warm up, but Cas wanted to absorb this feeling, to fully sense it. The last time he felt cold was when Metatron took his grace. Castiel doesn't like remembering these times, and talk about it, but now his feelings were especially heightened. He bent down and took some snow. The cold mass burned his hands, but Cas didn't let go of it, only brought it closer to his eyes. Small snowflakes quickly melted in his hands, leaving a muddy puddle instead. Castiel was mesmerized by this sight, but then he looked up and opened his mouth from amazement.  


Billions of stars shone extraordinarily bright on this winter night. Some were visibly larger and sparkled more vividly, some - much smaller and twinkled dimly. Cas turned around, trying to catch them all with his eyes, to examine in detail every shining dot in the sky. They shimmered and pulsed as if responding to his gaze, demonstrating themselves. The angel almost forgot how beautiful they are.  
Being in Heaven, where everything around was just a huge accumulation of light, the stars were just small grains of sand, meaningless, just a decoration, compared to the mighty glow of the heavens. But after meeting the Winchester brothers, after meeting Dean, he began to notice such small, but nevertheless beautiful things. People's laughter, snow, wildflowers covered with small dewdrops, butterflies in flight, buzzing of bees, colorful autumn leaves, and now the stars. Everything around him became different in his eyes. This is why he rebelled against the dictates of his family, with whom he had spent millions and millions of years. For such little things. They made sense. They are much more powerful and significant than what he stood for earlier. Once again, Cas was convinced, standing on this hill, observing the glowing distant dots, that he had made the right choice. After standing there for a couple of minutes, he started to feel the need to return to warmth, his legs began to ache due to the cold penetrating under the material of his shoes. Castiel will remember this evening for a long time.

The next day, sometime after lunch, Sam was packing his bags, Cas was reading something while sitting in a chair when they heard a familiar voice.  
\- Hey, guys, - Dean stood at the hall exit, leaning his hands against the wall.  
Sam immediately took a couple of steps back to increase the distance between them. Castiel got out of his chair, placing the book on the countertop, and walked quickly toward Dean to get a better look. It was clearly difficult for him to stand, his legs were in an absurd position, with his hands like that, he noticeably transferred all the weight on them. There was a faint but self-confident smile on his face.  
\- Welcome back,- Sam said and smiled back at him, still keeping his distance. - You made it just before I leave . - He continued to pack his bags.  
\- You wanted to say before WE leave, right? - Dean took another step forward, but then stopped. His legs were shaking.  
\- No, before I leave. Look at yourself, you can hardly stand, it's out of the question whether you are going with me or not, - Sam sounded rather harsh, but he was right. In such a state, Dean is unlikely to be able to walk, let alone fight or try to kill any creature, - You stay here with Cas, he doesn't have his powers, but you are not contagious for him. So you'll have company. And I'll go and finish what is left to be done.  
Cas shrank slightly at these words. Sam wouldn't have had to go and clean up after him if he hadn't let those witches go. He could heal Dean with one touch, but he can't do that either.  
\- Give me one day and I'll be as healthy as a bull, don't leave me in reserve, - continued Dean, - C'mon, just one day and the three of us will go and kick the devil's ass.  
\- No. A day won't be enough for you to fully recover, - Sam looked up from his bags and leaned on the table with both hands, looking directly at Dean, - Neither you nor Cas are able to fight right now, which leaves only me as a capable player. One more day will not be enough for you or him, so please don't waste my time. The job still needs to be done. The best thing you can do now is stop arguing with me, and listen at least once, because you yourself know that I am telling the truth. Stay here, both of you, and keep an eye on each other while I’m gone. I have to go now.  
The smile from Dean's face slowly faded as Sam was speaking with him. After listening, he lowered his eyebrows, exhaled deeply, turned around and headed towards his room without saying a word.  
\- Just like a child, - Sam whispered under his breath and rolled his eyes, a little later he continued, - Maybe I'm too harsh on him, but only this way he won't go and do some bullshit. Cas, you made the soup. I'm sure he's hungry now.  


Castiel finally pulled himself himself together and looked at Sam. "He's right, we have to stay here, Sam is the only one who can do anything at the moment. Dean is stubborn, but he understands that this is the case, he just needs time to accept that sometimes it is better to stay on the sidelines than to climb in the thick of things "- thought Cas.  
\- Yeah, of course, - he said, and walked briskly into the kitchen.  


"Soup, soup, I must give Dean some soup, he's hungry, focus on that," - Castiel kept repeating to himself as he pulled out a large pot from the fridge. "Don't think about how he could barely get there. And that his legs were shaking. Sam said that it's okay. It's okay. It's fine . Perfectly fine." - Cas took the tray and put the plate on top, finally calming down. Now he was more worried about Dean's reaction to it. "Will he like it? What if he doesn't want to eat? What if he decides it's weird? Or basically refuses because he is outraged?" - Cas stopped at the exit from the kitchen, but quickly regained his composure: "If I won't try - I won't find out. " 

He walked through the corridor and found himself at the half-open door to Dean's room. His hands were busy holding the plate, so he gently pushed the door open with his foot. Dean was sitting on the bed, holding something in his hands. As soon as he saw Cas he put it aside and smiled. Something in Castiel's chest hit him as he looked at the man's face. He obviously had some time to take a shower while Cas was fumbling in the kitchen. His hair was damp, and a couple of wet drops dripped down his neck and left small spots on his navy blue AC/DC T-shirt. It was slightly smaller than his usual size, and therefore completely hugged his body, emphasizing the muscular torso. Dean broke eye contact and turned his gaze to Cas's hands. Noticing the tray, his expression changed dramatically. He turned pale in just a second and, covering his mouth with his hand, ran towards the bathroom.  


"Oh no, oh shit"- echoed in Cas' head. Almost sprinting, he left Dean's room, leaving the tray outside. Turning back, as if in a second, he ran several feet to the bathroom. Dean was crouching right beside the toilet, vomiting. The sound of fluid coming out mixed with a cough and Dean's attempts to inhale as much air as possible. He was clearly unable to breathe normally, and a cough tore into his throat, as if gripping the inner walls of his neck with sharp claws. Cas froze. What can he do in this situation? Why is Dean vomiting? He was just about to walk up to him to hold him when Dean held out his hand to stop him, not letting him get closer.  


-Get out,- he said after he was finally able to breathe again.  
-I won't leave you like this, - Cas said and tried to pull his hand away, but Dean only pushed him farther.  
-I said get out! - Dean lifted his face. It was red, but it's expression was unmistakable anger.  
Cas didn't argue, quickly turned around and left. Leaning his back against the wall, he continued to listen to the sounds. Dean was still nauseous, coughing and clearly could not breathe normally.  


"I should have waited, I should have asked about his health, before piling in here with food. Last time he was sick for no reason at all, no wonder he is sick now." Cas began to slide down the wall until he reached the floor and stayed on it, still keeping his head leaned against it. He listened so that if anything happens, he can run back in and help Dean. So that if suddenly something goes wrong, he would be there. Those two minutes on the floor felt like an eternity. Ragged sounds, sharp breathing and coughing crashed into Cas's eardrums and forced him to inhale more deeply than usual. Dean was literally one wall away from him, but still Cas could not help in any way, the only thing he could do was to wait for it to be over. He didn't know what was "normal" at all at this point. "Is it okay that Dean can't breathe now just because of the smell of food? Is it normal that instead of resting, he turns inside out again? Doesn't Dean deserve to spend his days off feeling good after saving so many lives?"  
But two minutes passed and Cas heard the sounds gradually become less and less harsh, and then completely interrupted and drowned out by the running water. Dean was rinsing his mouth. It's over.  


When the water stopped, Cas rallied and went into the bathroom. Dean sat on the floor in the middle of the room trying to catch his breath. He was shaking, he grabbed his sweatpants, trying to at least keep himself in this position. His breathing was loud and choppy. Cas took a couple of steps forward and sat down next to him. Dean could kick him out one more time, push him away or yell at him, blame him, but Cas knew he just wouldn't leave this time, no matter what Dean would try to do. Castiel cannot leave him alone. Instead, Dean turned his back slightly in his direction and fell into his lap. Cas opened his arms reflexively and caught him. The top of his head was pressed against Cas's chest. Angel caught his breath as he wrapped his arms around Dean's waist, trying to get him more comfortable. Dean was shaking, all the muscles in his body twitching randomly. His gaze was directed somewhere above, Cas could make out several bursted vessels in his eyes. Castiel sat quietly, afraid to breath in a way that could disturb him or put his hand in the wrong way so as not to frighten Dean away. Finally, his breathing gradually began to come back to normal, Dean closed his eyes and pressed himself a little firmer against Cas' chest, Cas only grabbed him a little tighter.  


\- Didn't know you can cook,- Dean finally broke the silence. His voice was hoarse and low, but Castiel had no problem making out the words.  
\- Do you seriously want to talk about the soup now?- Cas looked down at Dean, his eyes still closed.  
\- Cas, please let me get distracted.- This time his voice sounded a little better.  
\- I didn't know how to until yesterday, I cooked according to the recipe. Sam said that you’ll probably be hungry when you wake up, so I prepared it for you. - Cas focused on“ for you", without noticing it. Dean moved slightly in his arms, he continued. - But it looks like I should have waited with this idea.  
Dean opened his eyes and shot a quick glance at Cas's face before the angel could make out his reaction. Dean tilted his head down but didn't try to get out.  
\- Are you okay? - Castiel asked, trying to turn his head in some way so that he could see Dean's expression.  
\- Been worse,-Dean replied in a whisper. Apparently, he closed his eyes again.  
Cas was about to relax too and hug Dean a little tighter when he heard footsteps approaching.  
\- I saw the tray outside and decided to check how are you... - Sam quickly went into the bathroom, but noticing Dean lying on Cas's chest, he stopped and just stared at them. Dean immediately pulled out of Cas' hands and sat aside, Cas also increased the distance between them.  
Dean raised his head in Sam's direction and said:  
\- I'm fine, just decided to get rid of the extra insides, - Sam laughed slightly and leaned against the door. - Listen, I'm sorry, for what I told you there. I can stay another day to look after you, but you're definitely not coming with me.  
\- I got that already, - Dean said and got to his feet. Unable to stay still, he sat down on the edge of the bathtub and put his hand on the sink, - You can go today, we'll be fine without you. How are you by the way?  
\- Me? - Sam clearly sounded surprised.  
\- You worked no less than me.  
\- I slept for ten hours for two days in a row, this is twice as much as in the whole last week. I feel like I was reborn.  
\- Okay then, - Dean narrowed his eyes slightly, as if trying to make out if Sam was telling the truth. -Watch me, bitch.  
Sam smiled and was about to leave when he said:  
\- Yeah, jerk. Goodbye guys. - he looked at Cas, quickly smiled at him and left the room.  


Dean got up from the bathtub, Cas immediately jumped up and wanted to help him, but Dean pulled his hand away. 

\- I told you, been worse.  
Halfway to bed, he nearly fell, which caused Cas's adrenaline level to jump, but he quickly grabbed the nightstand and made it there on his own. Hearing the sound of the front door closing, Dean finally exhaled and began to cough. He covered his mouth with his hand, trying to stop it. The cough was incredibly dry, and Castiel could swear that he was able to describe how painful it was judging by that ragged sound.  
\- God, Cas, don't look at me like someone kicked your puppy.- Dean broke eye contact and sat back more comfortably. - Since you're my babysitter, get me some water.  
Cas immediately jumped off and was about to leave when Dean called out to him:  
\- Sorry, I shouldn't be so rude. - He smiled slightly, clearly regretting what he said earlier. - I know you're just trying to help, but I'm really okay. A couple of days and I'll be healthier than I ever was before. Then we can catch up with Sam and go after those witches, right?  
Cas smiled a little.  
\- Of course, Dean.  


Castiel left the room and headed for the kitchen. Taking a glass, he put it in the sink and opened the tap. A small stream of liquid began to fill the container. "I'll just do what he says. He's okay, he says he's okay, so he really is. Sam's already gone so I have to take care of him. Just get him some damn water, Castiel, stop making him uncomfortable with your presence, "- Cas finally dismissed those thoughts when he noticed that the water was already pouring out of the glass and disappearing into the drain. He took the glass and went to Dean's room.  


The color of his face indicated that he was feeling better. There was no sign of redness, but there is still pallor caused by fatigue and grey bags under the eyes. Dean sat under the covers and examined Cas again. It is actually much better than when he can't breathe on the bathroom floor.  
Castiel handed Dean a glass and sat on the edge of the bed near his feet. Dean emptied the contents of the glass in quick gulps and set it on the bedside table.  
\- We really need bigger cups, this one reminds me of the lady obsessed with fairies.  
\- A lady obsessed with fairies?- Cas tilted his head slightly to one side and squinted, trying to understand what Dean was talking about.  
\- Long story.- Dean leaned forward slightly, trying to examine Cas, and then asked, - How did the witches get to you? I thought Lucifer was going to get rid of them too.  
Castiel moved a little closer and looked at the opposite wall.  
\- Some witches are on Lucifer's side. As I understand it, he began to form his own army, in case we and Rowena would try to seal him back.  
\- Oh shit. How many are we talking about?- Dean exhaled and rubbed his forehead thoughtfully.  
\- Not so many, about seven at the moment, but he continues to recruit others.  
Dean dropped his arms and looked at Cas.  
\- We shouldn't have let you go there by yourself, Cas, it was reckless. And now you are without your powers... I'm sorry.  
\- No, it's okay,- Cas smiled slightly and made eye contact. - You thought it was nothing just like the previous leads. I should have been more careful and helped you and Sam. You clearly needed it.  
Dean smiled and pulled the blanket a little higher.  
\- Okay, we can apologize to each other all day or we can deal with what we are having now. The only thing I'm not sure about is whether it was the right decision to let Sam go there alone. We're talking at least about seven strong witches who really want us dead. Damn, he should have taken someone with him. I need to text him about this. Why didn't I think about this before?  
He reached for the phone. Castiel sat a little closer to see what Dean was going to write. Someone else would have been confused and asked to move away, but Dean seemed to have almost completely resigned himself to the complete lack of personal space when Castiel is next to him. He completely stopped paying attention to it.  
As soon as Dean turned on the phone, it showed a new message notification from Sam. Dean tapped on it without thinking twice.  


A photo opened and occupied the whole screen. Castiel, wearing a red apron tied around his neck and waist, stood by the stove, spoon in one hand. He held the other hand under it, as if afraid to spill the contents on the floor. A couple of buttons on his shirt were undone and the sleeves were pushed up to the elbows. Looks like Sam took this photo while Cas was fiddling with the soup for Dean. His face was brought close to the spoon, he was going to taste it. Dean pushed the shutdown button with a quick flick of his hand and slammed the phone down. His cheeks had taken on a bright red color, he looked fearfully at Cas.  
Castiel tilted his head slightly to the side and studied his face. It was one of those expressions that he got whenever Cas stood too close or complimented him. Dean's eyes were wide and he covered the phone with the blanket, hoping Castiel hadn't seen the photo after all.  
-Um, is that me?-Cas pointed to the spot where Dean was holding the phone a second ago.  
\- Oh, um, yeah. Sam decided that I would want to look at this and that's why he sent it. I mean I don’t want to look at you in an apron with this soup, but ... don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it and the photo is nice, but ...  
Dean cleared his throat  
-I'll delete it later, don't worry, - he took the phone back and, moving further on the dialogue, he saw another message:  
"I knew you'd want me to get a partner, so I called Garth. Stop worrying about me and get some rest."  
Dean smiled, clearly glad Sam wasn't going there alone.  
\- Smart kid. Even too smart. Sometimes I think he can read my mind. - Dean turned off the phone and put it on the cabinet.  
Cas let out a small laugh, Dean only faintly smiled in return. He sat with his legs crossed and his hands on his knees. His hair was still damp from the water, and the blush finally gave his face a livelier look. Castiel loved to just stare at him. A couple of bruises on his hands from recent battles and a small blister on his index finger on the right hand from constantly pulling the trigger set Dean apart from anyone else. In the light of the bedside lamp, his green eyes gleamed faintly golden, only making him more mesmerizing. Finally Dean broke the silence.  
\- Since we’re stuck here, I propose to spend time usefully.- He straightened his spine a bit. - Do you remember that list of films that I made for you to watch? You said you never had enough time on this. Well, Cas, consider this as your education movie night.  
Castiel wanted to answer something, but Dean, without waiting for it, got up and walked much more confidently into the room with a huge TV or as Dean himself called it: "Dean's cave". The only thing left for Cas was to follow him, first taking a blanket with him.  
Dean sat on a cozy sofa in the middle of the room when Cas finally caught up with him.  
\- Why did you take the blanket? - Dean winced slightly and raised one eyebrow, looking at the angel in misunderstanding.  
\- You're sick, you need to stay warm at all time. Either you stay here with a blanket or you go back.- Cas sounded a little more bossy than he had originally planned, but it worked because Dean didn't say anything else, just grunted and reached out to take the blanket from Cas's hands.  
Taking a laptop, the man began to look for something, while Castiel went to the kitchen to make some hot tea for himself and Dean.  


Returning back with two cups, he sat down next to him. Dean was already wrapped in a blanket from head to toe, which reminded Cas of a small caterpillar in a cocoon. Dean tucked his legs up, and the only visible parts of his body were his face and palms holding the laptop.  
\- I'm in the mood for a western tonight,- Dean said, flipping through the films.- Have you watched "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly"?  
Cas put the mugs on the table in front of the couch and replied:  
\- Metatron loaded it into my mind.  
\- Damn, okay, hmm ...- Dean scrolled further and then quickly looked at Cas, - "Dirty Harry"?  
\- Same. Actually all of Clint Eastwood's films.  
\- Oh, really! - Dean was clearly outraged by his answer, - Why is he doing that with the classics, you have to watch it for real, and not just .., - he exhaled, - I could make you watch it yourself, but what's the point if you already know the ending. - Dean paused for a while and pushed himself further so that his back could touch the sofa, - You know what - you choose. I selected all the cowboy movies, you just pick the one you haven't watched yet.  


Dean handed Castiel the laptop, immediately tucking his hands under the covers. Now he looked just like a warm lump with a face. Cas began to scroll the page. He was really surprised by how much stuff Metatron had loaded into his brain. For a second, he was even afraid that he would not find a single movie that he had not "watched". Having scrolled almost to the end, he stopped. The picture showed two men standing back to back and dramatically looking in different directions, after reading the name Cas realized that he had not seen it before, although he was advised to watch it.  
\- This one,- Cas pointed at the picture.  
\- Which one?- Dean moved a little closer, trying to figure out exactly where Castiel was pointing.  
\- This one, " The Brokeback Mountain".  
Dean shrank a little and sat back a couple of centimeters.  
\- Are you sure you want to watch this? - Dean made that face again, his cheeks flushed.  
\- Yeah, I would really like to watch it - Cas smiled further and continued - Balthazar advised me to watch it with you. In fact, he said EXACTLY with you. He was always talking about this movie, and how similar we are to the main characters from there. He never stopped talking about it, of course, until he di... Until I killed Balthazar...  
Cas doesn't like to think about it. It is one of his worst memories, haunting him wherever he goes. Balthazar was the only one who could understand him when no one in his family could. He was there when others turned away from him, was ready to watch his back for him, like a real brother and a friend. He died trying to help. He risked his life trying to instill the right path in Castiel, trying to stop him. But what did he get in return? That's right - an angel blade in the heart. Castiel hated himself for it, couldn't bare it. Every memory of Balthazar now brought only pain and despair, making his heart clench even harder. He will never forgive himself for what happened, won't ever be able to let go.  
Castiel squeezed his trousers lightly with one hand, trying to catch his breath.  


\- Cas, Cas, are you okay? - Dean pulled a hand out from under the covers, resting it on the angel's shoulder.  
\- If you mind, I can choose something else, - Cas said, ignoring the question. - There are a couple more films here ...  
Dean took his hand away and sat down a little further.  
\- No, if you want to watch it, then come on. I'm the one who let you choose.  


The first twenty minutes of the film were carefree. Castiel enjoyed the views of the mountains and meadows, lots of sheep walking in the same direction, always controlled by two men on horseback. Dean also relaxed and rested his chin on his knees. The tea was long gone, so they both focused on the film. Cas almost forgot how much he loves evenings like these. When everything around seems so quiet and calm, there are only the two of them sitting on the opposite side of a large screen a couple of centimeters apart.  


A quarter of the movie had already passed when Cas realized why Balthazar so strongly advised watching it with Dean. Dean began to shiver next to him, he was obviously uncomfortable watching the night scene in the tent, his cheeks glowed bright red, Cas was sure that if he touched them, he could get burned.  
\- We can watch something else.- Cas was about to grab the remote when Dean removed his hand.  
\- It's okay, I just started getting into the plot. - Dean curled up even tighter, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. They never exchanged another word during the entire film.  
Castiel was immersed in the plot, closely following the behavior of the characters. Dean reminded him of Jack Twist, something about the two of them was similar. The manner of speech or a slightly cheeky lifestyle - Cas couldn't fully understand, but there was something alike. He also loved flannel shirts and cowboy hats and was popular with the ladies. Castiel was just about to tell Dean about it when he suddenly felt pressure on his shoulder. 

Smoothly turning to look, he noticed that it was Dean's head. His eyes were closed, which made Cas realize that Dean was just asleep. His mouth was slightly parted, and the edges of the blanket no longer hid his entire body. Cas could finally see him. He, like a cat, was lying curled up, raising himself just a little to place his head on Cas' shoulder. His ribcage rose and fell smoothly, each time stretching the print on his shirt a little tighter. Castiel gently moved down to lie next to him, Dean shivered slightly, but his head stayed in the same spot. Cas wasn't sure if he was doing this on purpose or if he had just accidentally fallen asleep, but now it didn't bother him at all. He wrapped his arms around Dean's waist and continued watching the movie.  


The ending was sad and Cas, without realizing it, wiped tears from his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt. Moving his gaze to Dean, he stopped again. His hand rested on Cas's chest, the other one pressed to his body. One of the legs was wrapped around Castiel's right leg, which made it impossible for him to change his position without disturbing Dean. But he didn't want to move when he still has the opportunity to be with him, lie so close, not having a centimeter in between them.  
Castiel smoothly ran his hand over the man's cheekbone, afraid that he might wake up at any moment. When he was sure it was safe, he gently touched the edge of his nose, running his thumb over his cheek and chin. Dean didn't move. Then Cas did something that he would never have dared to do before.  


Gently brushing a couple of hair locks from his forehead, Castiel slowed down for a second. This is the last barrier that couldn't be broken. Although Cas used to look at him sleeping before, now he touches him. For a second, he wanted to get up, go away, leave him here, because Dean would probably regret it in the morning, but also something very strong and loud inside him didn't allow Cas to resist.  


Leaning slightly, he pressed his lips against Dean's forehead. The kiss was short, innocent, perfectly safe, but the warmth in Cas' chest felt unimaginable. He laid down next to Dean on the pillow and closed his eyes. Everything was just fine. The last thing in the world that he wanted was for the morning to start.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by JustLee.

Intrusive pain in his right arm made Castiel open his eyes. It was not easy, as if the weight of his eyelids had suddenly increased, resisting his will.  
Yawning, he checked the tightness of the bandage and rubbed his eyes. Cas couldn't feel it for a long time: those first minutes after waking up, when everything seems to be moving around a little faster than it really is. It's a slight dizziness, which for a second makes Castiel wonder if waking up at such a late hour affected him this way, or it was the room really starting to circle around him. He exhaled deeply, trying to wake up completely when he realized that he had absolutely no idea how he got here. This corner room with a dimly lit pair of lamps has always been considered Dean's refuge, the very place where he locked himself in on his days off watching the same movies over and over again. In here it has always smelled of various snacks and a subtle hint of beer, but now the smell is completely gone, Dean has not been here for a long time. Memories gradually began to return to him: mugs of hot tea trying to burn his skin through the surface of the ceramics, Dean wrapped in a blanket from head to toe, pressing against the opposite edge of the sofa, his cheeks pink with embarrassment, the plot of the film itself, all Cas's thoughts and... The weight of Dean's head on his shoulder, his slightly open mouth, a few messy hair locks on his forehead, and then the soft hesitant touch. The kiss.

Castiel kissed him. Cas felt a slight pressure in his chest, a strange sensation that has been affecting him since his battle with the witches. He wanted to put his hand on his chest, to try to tone that feeling down, but instead, his hand reached out to his own lips. He gently pressed his index finger to his lower lip and traced it from the left corner of his lips to the right, trying to feel at least any sign of Dean. Something had to remain, had to give in to the touch, but there was nothing left of Dean's pressure, just a couple of memories in Cas' mind . The angel lowered his hand and gently squeezed the blanket, soft villi enveloping his arm in a soft hug, which made Castiel feel calmer. He ran his hand over the surface of the blanket, stroking it like a pet asking for affection. It was so gentle and pliable, squeezing under his fingers, taking their shape. It was gray, not too different from the shade of the kitchen walls, if only a couple of tones. His fingers obstructed the light of the desk lamp, which made the blanket darken slightly under his touch, in the shadows of his fingers. Castiel didn't want to leave, just sitting here wrapped in something so warm and soft made him feel good, comfortable and relaxed, but still there was a feeling that something was missing. Something very important, without which everything else seemed incomplete, insufficient. Cas went around the room, trying to find what was missing, until he realized.  
"Dean. There is no Dean. "  
He pushed the blanket to his feet, and only crumpled it up, without folding it, immediately stood up. His sight darkened slightly, forcing him to quickly lean on the couch until the world acquired colors again. His head ached slightly, and his back was likely numb during sleep, which made an uncomfortable tingling sensation run down his spine. He gripped the armrest and, taking a deep breath, finally got to his feet. The world shook a little more, but Cas went further. 

With leisurely steps, he went to the kitchen. Expecting to see Dean there, Cas opened his mouth, preparing to say hello, but noticing that everything remained intact, the same as it was yesterday , he stopped. The chairs were in the same position, fully pushed under the table, a couple of beer bottles by the sink, dirty plates casually stacked on top of each other. Cas went up to the coffee machine. He took out a glass jug, it was perfectly transparent, almost without any spots inside, slightly shining from the light in the corridor.  
"Dean usually drinks coffee in the morning, he literally can't function without it. He never cleans the coffee machine after himself, much less shoves a chair under the table." Quickly putting the jug back, he walked to Dean's room.

The switched off lights inside the room and in the bathroom also indicated that Dean wasn't here. Cas checked Sam's room, his own, but Dean wasn't there either.  
" He must be in the library", - he tried to assure himself, but something clearly wasn't right. With a quick step, he turned around the corner and made his way to the bookshelves. All tables were empty.  
-Dean? - Castiel called, but only his own echo answered back.  
"Where is he? Where can he possibly be?"  
His pulse increased, pumping blood through his body faster.  
Cas began to panic: “What if he was awake and knows about what happened yesterday? Does he know about what I did? What if he felt uncomfortable or embarrassed? He could have gotten out of the bunker because of this. But he is so weak right now, he could have been easily attacked.” The thoughts in Cas's head were rushing with a rapid speed, adding new assumptions every second about where he might be. "Maybe he is in one of the bathrooms. He can't breathe again, but this time there is no one next to him. What if he passed out on the way somewhere?" He took a deep breath, trying to think rationally, “Maybe he just went down to the basement for more books ?”

Castiel ran through all the bathrooms - empty. All the rooms and storage rooms on the second floor also had no sign of Dean. He looked into the room behind the stairs, checked the secret passage for the books, swept through the entire basement, opening every single door,but Dean wasn't there. Cas grabbed his head and pulled his hair. "Where is he? Where is he? Where can he be? I had one simple job - keeping an eye on him, I couldn't even handle that. Sam told me to look after him, be there and ... Sam." it dawned on him, "He went after Sam. He was so angry that he stayed in reserve that he could not stand it and went after him. Damn, damn, damn ..".

Castiel jumped over several steps on the stairs, trying to get to the garage as quickly as possible. His heart was pounding, and he, completely ignoring the pain in his arm, pulled himself up on the railing, adding even more speed to his already fast pace. Dean couldn't have left without the Impala, he would never leave her here alone - Cas knew that. He just hoped to catch him before he left. Hoped that he would be there in time.

He threw the iron door open as if it was made of paper and ran inside. The adrenaline in his blood became so high that at first he couldn't even focus his vision. Everything was a multi-colored blur, preventing Cas from seeing anything.

After catching his breath, he was able to look around the room. Dean sat on a low plastic box directly opposite the Impala with its hood raised. His elbows were propped on his knees, which made his back take the shape of the letter "C", his hair was sticking out in different directions, the sleeves of a red flannel shirt were rolled up, and his hands were smeared with something black. He was sitting sideways, which prevented Cas from seeing the expression on his face, but he definitely didn't look like he was going somewhere. Taking a deep breath, Castiel walked over to him.  
\- I was looking for you, you didn't drink your coffee and I thought you ...  
Dean coughed, interrupting his words. His body shuddered more and more each time, the muscles in his neck bulged noticeably. He immediately turned his face away from Castiel, covering his mouth with his hand, as if afraid to infect him. But Cas knew - he just didn't want him to see. Castiel put a hand on his shoulder, waiting for the coughing to end. He was in this position for a full minute, until Dean finally finished.  
\- Are you okay? - Cas asked, lightly squeezing Dean's shoulder with his right hand.

Dean finally turned his head around. His eyebrows were furrowed, creating a visible wrinkle between them, his lips were tense - he was clearly annoyed. Castiel immediately withdrew his hand, his eyes wide open, frantically trying to figure out what triggered his reaction.

Dean turned back to the Impala without a word.  
Taking something shiny in his hand, he squeezed it with such force that his knuckles on palm turned white.  
\- I've been messing with this all morning - Dean finally broke the silence, - I've been trying to change the damn oil all morning, but every time I try, I just can't unscrew that fucking barrel lid. - Dean sounded annoyed. He raised his hand and was about to throw something, but at the last moment he just put it next to him. He extended both arms slightly forward to show them to Cas. His palms and fingers were shaking.

\- They don't do shit, - Dean said through clenched teeth. He sighed again, trying to calm himself, and continued, - I'm a hunter, Cas. I save people.  
I rid them of their nightmares. I killed ghouls, vampires, werewolves, ghosts, demons, angels, wendigos, pagan gods, a lot of other things. Damn, I killed the princes of Hell and fought the sister of God, but now I can't remove this plastic cover, just because my hands refuse to work. - Dean interlocked his fingers, trying to stop the shaking.

Castiel moved a little closer and touched his elbow, trying to help Dean relax his arms and then finally spoke up.  
\- That's right, Dean, you did all of this. You have helped so many people. You got sick, guarding dozens of people in the hospital, because you were afraid that someone would attack them. You absolutely didn't care about yourself and your basic human needs. How many times did you save the world, huh? - Cas spoke quietly at first, but gradually added confidence in his words, - How many people have returned to their families safe and sound thanks to you? You have given so many people the opportunity to live and move on, knowing that they are safe because they are protected by people like you. Dean, you did a lot of things, that's right, but now, you need to take some rest and hand over some of the work to people who are willing to help you, okay? - Cas lifted a metal object from the floor.  
\- You've taken care of so many people, let them take care of you. You deserve some rest and you are not the only hunter on Earth, so you don't have to travel around the country forever. There are people who will do it for you. They will help you with the hunt, and I can help you with the car, - Dean finally turned his head towards Cas, he raised one eyebrow, doubting his words, - If you would tell me how to do this, of course. 

Castiel smiled and walked over to the Chevy, showing with all his appearance that he was ready for instructions. Dean sat up a little straighter, leaned his hands on the box and exhaled.  
\- Okay, you have a point .. - he slightly narrowed his eyes, - I'll let you help me, only if you do exactly what I say, no amateur performance at all .  
\- Yeah! - Cas gripped the object a little tighter.  
\- Okay, just don't hurt her.  
\- I'll be careful.  
Dean moved the box a little closer to get a better view of the contents of the hood, Cas turned in that direction too.  
\- What you are holding now is called a car key, you'll need it later, so you can put it aside for now.  
\- Oh, okay. - Cas immediately put it on the floor just to the left of the wheel.  
\- Okay, now come here, - Dean nevertheless got up and went to the right side of the hood, - This is the engine, and this, - Dean, pointed his finger at the black circle, - is the engine filler cap. You need to unscrew it.  
Cas nodded and rolled up his sleeves just like Dean's and got to work. Unscrewing was not a problem, it quickly succumbed and didn't resist the pressure exerted on it by Castiel's hands at all. Dean exhaled loudly. Cas knew that he felt bad, that he could not do it himself, but there was nothing he could do about it. Pulling the cover off, Cas turned back to Dean for further instructions.  
\- Not bad, now the fun part - get under the car.  
\- What? - Castiel tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out if he was joking.  
\- Under the car, Cas - Dean laughed slightly, apparently noticing his bewilderment.  
\- Oh, um, okay.  
Castiel lay down on his back and crawled a little under the car.  
\- You're doing great. Look there, you should be able to see a plug on your left side, you will need to pull it out.  
It was quite dark, Castiel did not see anything at all, let alone some kind of plug, deciding to act by touch, he began to look for it.  
\- This one? - Cas finally sensed something and pointed to it.  
\- You understand that I don’t see shit from here, right? - Dean's voice came from above.  
\- Oh, sorry.  
\- Give me sec..  
Noticing movement in the area of his legs, Cas looked over there : Dean seemed to be kneeling. Another second and his hand carefully made its way under the bottom of the car and immediately pointed to a completely different detail.  
\- This one.  
\- Okay. I.. - Castiel was about to move to the spot when he noticed that Dean's hand and his leg were only a couple of millimeters away. Cas's heartbeat immediately quickened as he looked at Dean's hand still pointing to a certain detail. Sharp knuckles protruded onto the surface of the upper part of his palm, a pair of thin and long fingers were folded next to each other, and the watch was tightly wrapped around his wrist, emphasizing the clearly visible veins. Cas just froze in a stupor, not knowing where to go, all thoughts abruptly left his head. He struggled to resist the obsessive desire to raise his leg a little higher, to feel the touch of these fingers.

\- You’re stuck there or what? Who am I showing it to?- Dean’s voice made Cas quickly return to reality.  
\- I'm fine, give me a second. - Castiel began to climb out as Dean's hand slid out of the sight. Cas crept under the plug, awaiting further instructions.  
\- Now take this, - Dean slipped a large bowl under the bottom, - Put liquid there, just be careful, don't get dirty. Unscrew the nut and let all the contents flow from there. There will still be a copper ring on the nut, if you lose it, we won't be able to put it back.

Castiel began smoothly unscrewing the nut as a pitch-black liquid poured into his hands. He quickly removed his hand and began to watch the contents fill the container. When it was completely full, Cas spun everything back and, carefully moving the bowl in front of him, crawled out to the surface.  
\- That's good. Now come here and put some new oil in the engine.  
Cas took a hold of the white bottle and, unscrewing the lid, went to the hood. Pouring the oil should have been simple, but he couldn't concentrate - Dean stood to his side, looking at his hands, watching every move, checking every step. His face was so close that Castiel could smell his shampoo - light notes of pine needles, burdock and something else that he could not make out.  
Cas felt a warm breath on his body. The air, as if tickling him, smoothly passed along his neck, causing goosebumps.  
\- Okay, that's enough. - Dean's voice ripped him out of his thoughts. Castiel lowered the bottle and screwed the engine cap back on with a wrench, wiping a couple of spilled drops with a piece of cloth.  
\- What should I do with this? - Cas pointed to the black liquid in the container.  
\- Leave it here. When Sam comes back , we'll stir up some Molotov cocktails. Dean smiled, looking Cas straight in the eye. - That's all.  
\- Oh really? It was ... easy. - Cas rubbed his cheek and gave Dean a smile.  
\- Good job, - Dean put his hand on the hood, clearly having a hard time standing.  
\- Thank you.  
Dean winced slightly, looked him up and down, and said:  
\- You got dirty anyway. - Castiel tilted his head at first, and then began to examine his clothes. The white shirt was now rather gray-brown, and also black in some places, almost all of them near the chest and belly. The sleeves were torn and a couple of scraps of fabric were loose on their own. Hands were completely covered with old black oil, and there were also a couple of spots on the pants.  
\- Oh no, - Cas exhaled heavily and lifted his shirt to get a better look at the spots.  
\- You urgently need some new clothes, Cas, - Dean propped his chin with his hand, still not taking his eyes off him - Follow me, - and he turned towards the door.  
They reached his room. Dean opened the closet and began to run his hands through his clothes, quickly moving a hanger after a hanger. Multicoloured flannel shirts sequaciously moved to the left side of the closet, monotonous black and gray T-shirts quickly followed them. Dean stopped at something, and, pushing it slightly towards him, then finally tossed it onto the bed. Cas came a little closer to examine it in detail. It was an all-red fine-knit sweater with long sleeves and a small turtle neck, on the front of which, a little crumpled, could be seen a seated polar bear. It smiled, clutching a red heart to his chest. Soon, brown corduroy trousers covered him.  
\- Change into this for now and go get yourself some new clothes. You can’t live a normal life with just one, no longer white shirt. Dean turned his back to the closet and looked at Castiel again.  
\- This, um, doesn't look like your usual clothes. - Cas smiled as he examined the sweater again.  
\- Yeah, Sam gave me this sweater last Christmas. For the first time he got drunk so much that he stole this "outfit" from the closest gift store to the motel, surprisingly he was able to find my size, - Dean laughed slightly, clearly recalling what happened, - But this is the warmest thing that I have in my closet, so don't be picky and get into it. With pants, the story is generally confusing, you better not know .. Anyway, go take a shower and change, you smell like a gas station - Dean said and left the room. 

Castiel had not felt this for a long time - warm streams of water gently touched his head, rushed down his neck, passing along the collarbone and remained there for a couple of seconds, outlining the shape of his spine and down to his toes as if dissolving in every centimeter of his skin. This feeling was fundamentally different from what he felt while having full angelic power. The process of taking a shower is ordinary and simple, requiring only a small investment of water and time, but now for him any typical human action seemed to be perceived anew. He was rediscovering what was part of his daily routine just a couple of years ago. When he first felt what people feel every day: heat and cold, hunger and satiety, despair, joy, anger, disappointment, sadness, resentment, fear, disorientation, contempt, loneliness, emptiness and pain. Echoes of all these sensations have always been present in his life, but they didn't feel like real ones at all, rather just a pitiful parody. He doesn't like that time, despite new discoveries and exploits, he simply can't stand it, and therefore he constantly suppresses any memories related to this. Then there was only chaos in Heaven, the crimes of Metatron against his own kind, the mark of Cain on Dean's right hand, just above the inner side of the elbow, forcing him to harm everyone next to him. He gradually went crazy, losing all compassion and love, right in front of Castiel, who absolutely couldn't help him. 

Cas leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Tiny streams of water outlined the contour of his face, stuck in his eyelashes, held in the philtrum. Opening his mouth slightly, he tried to catch his breath, and drive these memories back, as deep as possible into the subcortex of his brain, from where they simply wouldn't be able to find their way back. Cas inhaled deeply and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to cover up those horrible images in his head by something that made him calm, but it didn't help. These memories appeared only for a second, and then were rapidly interrupted by others - more terrible and painful ones.

He wanted to remember the serenity of the seashore somewhere in the south of Greece, the quiet repetitive whisper of waves, the colored fish that lived closer to the bottom of the sea and the bright stones, that seemed to have been glowing in a special way under the surface of the water in the reflection of the evening sun, but they were immediately blocked by the pitch-black eyes of demon Dean. They pierced right through, too empty and at the same time too deep, preventing from reaching the real him. His face twisted into an unnatural shape, as if mocking the typical facial expressions of Dean, using the faint dimples on his cheeks to create a disgusting, monstrous smile.  
Cas's cheeks prickled slightly, the memory of Dean's rough punches all across his face, knuckles leaving a mark, tearing the skin until they bleed. Hit after hit in the face, in the gut, in the chin, in the forehead and the back of the head, trying to inflict as much damage as possible, to smash his skull apart. His gaze as Dean rose above him on his knees, swiftly pulling the angel blade from his coat sleeve, hatred in his eyes, tightly clenched teeth and..

With a sharp move, Cas turned the faucet to the left and the pressure of icy water hit him, removing all thoughts from his head in a second. He let out a loud sigh of suddenness and shrank, turning off the water completely. He mustn't allow himself to go so deep inside his mind, he just mustn't. 

Leaving the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, he took the clothes prepared for him. Quickly putting them on, he began to dry his hair, ridding it of excess moisture. After wringing out the remaining water with a towel a couple of times, he laid it on the edge of Dean's bed and turned to the side, examining himself in the mirror. The sweater looked huge on him, covering most of the palms, leaving only his fingertips visible, awkwardly looking out from under the sleeves, the neck was slightly stretched and the collarbone could barely be seen, the bottom of the sweater completely hid the pelvis. Although he looked rather ridiculous in it, for some reason Cas liked it very much. He turned left and right, without taking his eyes off the mirror, trying to look at himself from all sides. The sweater was really warm, it slightly tingled the belly where the polar bear was embroidered, but the rest of the coat was incredibly pleasant to the body. The pants sat a little better and were nice in length, but a little loose at the waist, so Cas pulled his belt out of his trousers and slipped it into the buckles of the corduroy pants. He examined himself a little more to see if he was looking good when he noticed a silhouette out of the corner of his eye near the door. Jumping slightly in surprise, Cas turned. Dean stood there with his shoulder on the doorframe and legs crossed, desperately trying to hold back a smile, which made his chin slightly wrinkled.  
\- How long have you been there? - Cas asked, reflexively covering his body with his hands. Dean glanced revealingly at the clock, then up at the ceiling, pretending to count something, curling his fingers, and replied:  
\- Three minutes, that's for sure, - this time he couldn't hold back a smile and laughed, still not taking his eyes off Cas. Castiel wanted to answer something, but instead smiled himself. This was the first time in months Dean laughed. It has been a nightmare lately, so Cas just watched him, trying to memorize every curve of his muscle under the skin on his face, to capture it in his memory like a photograph. The laugh was so pure and sincere, only Dean was capable of that.

After catching his breath, he turned his gaze to the bed and then back to Castiel, his eyes darkened slightly and he smoothly shifted his weight from the doorframe to his feet, standing directly in front of him. Raising his head slightly, he began to walk towards Cas. The angel sighed and took a step back, but quickly froze. The world seemed to have slowed down, which made him think that seconds were suddenly moving much slower than usually, stretching this moment to the point of impossibility. Slow footsteps brought Dean closer and closer, which made Cas’s stomach tighten in a knot. Dean's forest green eyes were fixed on him as he approached without breaking eye contact at all. Dean crossed the distance between them, just a stone's throw away , slowly reaching out a little forward with his hand and.. took the towel from the bed.

\- Dude, it's all wet, why did you put it on my sheets? - Dean crumpled the towel in his hands, and raised one eyebrow slightly to stare at Cas.  
\- Sorry, I ... I didn't think about it, - Castiel blurted out and gripped his elbow with his palm, trying to hide himself.  
\- Okay, fine, - Dean sighed and stepped back a little, trying to find something in his pocket. After a couple of seconds, he pulled out a bunch of keys with a clang, twirled it a little in his hands, as if pondering something, and handed it to Cas. He reflexively took them, not even thinking about it, but noticing the shape of the shiny silver keys, he quickly turned his gaze to Dean, - Don't look at me like that, you helped me with her and you were pretty gentle, so you can drive her to the store. You earned it. - Dean smiled slightly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Castiel squeezed the ligament, raised his eyebrows and asked:  
\- Are you sure?  
\- Yeah, but you better not ask me again, so that I don't change my mind.  
Cas ran his thumb over one of the keys, it's barbs lightly scratching his skin and reflecting the light from the ceiling, further delighting the angel.  
\- Thank you, Dean, - Cas smiled broadly, standing up a little more straight, - Thank you so much.  
\- You are welcome, but only so that there are no scratches on her, okay? Don't even try to exceed the speed limit, - Dean sounded more serious now, finally putting his hands down.  
\- I'll be very careful, - Castiel assured him, but then exhaled and looked up again, - I can't go.  
\- What? Why? You need to buy new clothes, Cas. - Dean tilted his head slightly in disbelief.  
\- I can't leave you here alone while I'm somewhere else. I promised Sam to keep an eye on you.  
Dean sighed and answered  
\- I'll be fine for a couple of hours and I'm feeling better today, don't worry.  
\- That's good, but I really shouldn't. I'll wash my shirt, that should be enough..  
\- Cas, let's be realistic, those stains won't just fade away, - Dean interrupted him. - Since you’re almost human now, you need clothes that you don’t have now. Go and buy it, it's not a big deal.  
Castiel shook his head and added:  
\- It's not that important, I shouldn't leave just because of this.  
Dean hummed slightly and after a moment answered  
\- We're running out of groceries. Buy more food, we definitely can't live without it, right?  
\- Yes, but ... - Cas wanted to argue, but he was interrupted again  
\- No, enough excuses. I will just read books in the library, nothing will happen to me. Calm down, I'm a big boy, I can spend a couple of hours unattended.  
Cas took a deep breath and, considering what he was saying, said:  
\- If you feel even a little worse, I mean just a little bit - you call me right away, okay? This is the only way I agree to go, even though I don't want to.  
\- Scout's honor! - Dean raised his hand up and pointed an outstretched palm to his temple in a military-like salut. He was only able to stand like this for a couple of seconds, but then, unable to stand up straight any longer, he sat down on the bed. - Bye, Cas. Honestly I'll be fine.  
Castiel narrowed his eyes slightly, looking at Dean with doubt, who now was leaning on the bed to rest from standing on his legs in such a weak state for a long time and, exhaling deeply, replied:  
\- Okay, I'll be back soon. 

Castiel turned the ignition key and the Impala's engine growled in response, gleefully gorging on new oil as she got out of the garage. Everything around was covered with a thin layer of snow, in several places exposing dry grass, from which water flowed in dirty streams in the direction of the drain. There were no clouds in the sky and the sun illuminated everything around with bright light, penetrating under every house roof and a thin branch of trees, completely ridding them of shadows. On the houses there were colorful garlands and Christmas decorations: bells, wreaths, small figures of Santa Claus and reindeers. Children, securely wrapped in hot winter clothes ran by, throwing wet snowballs at each other and laughing so joyfully and loudly that the sound managed to penetrate through the closed side window of the Impala on the go. Cas smiled, watching this scenery, everything seemed to be radiating with the atmosphere of the upcoming holiday, it easily drove away all the bad memories and meaningless worries. Castiel looked forward and saw a yellow pickup truck far ahead, with a large trunk jam-packed with sleds and skis of different sizes. Judging by the picture, the owners of the truck were clearly going to spend their holiday in the mountains, and may even celebrate Christmas there, among the snow-covered forest and frozen lakes, sliding down the high hills on skis, later again climbing to the top on little trailers attached to a cable, from where you can probably see some towns of Vermont or Utah.  
Wanting to get a better look at the car, Cas pushed on the gas pedal, Impala dutifully yielded and, with a roar of approval, rushed forward. In the back seat of the car was a Golden Retriever, that immediately started barking when he saw Cas approaching. Two little girls, both about seven years old, who were sitting next to it immediately began to drag the dog back, scratching him behind his ear and on the back of the neck to calm him down. There was barely audible music coming from the car, to which the passengers were singing along. Castiel couldn't make out the words, but was more than sure that it too was imbued with the spirit of Christmas. At the next crossroad to the right, the car turned, leaving Cas alone with his thoughts. He sat in silence for a couple of minutes and then reached out to the speakers, and, pressing the black round button, turned on the radio. A second later, the silence was interrupted by the voices of women singing in unison. The song apparently did not start from the beginning, but just a couple of seconds later, skipping the intro, but this did not prevent Cas from listening.

"Give me your heart for Christmas  
Wrap it with joy and cheer  
Let every beat sing to repeat  
Our love will last each moment of the year. "

The women's voices were silvery and soft, Castiel listened attentively to every word, simultaneously not taking his eyes off the road, watching as large flakes of snow suddenly started falling from the sky, adding even more charm to the song.

"Just ... give me your heart for Christmas  
Only your love will do  
And with each sigh you'll know that I  
Have given you my heart for Christmas, too "

Together with the women, the man sang, diluting the high voices using his low one with velvety notes, which seemed to tickle the eardrums a bit. He also lengthened certain syllables, stretching the words, adding even more fluidity to them. 

"And when it's Christmas eve  
We'll sit around the tree  
And hear the church bells ring  
They're ringing for you and me

So ... give me your heart, darling, for christmas  
Open it wide for me (just for Christmas)  
And in return my love will burn  
As bright as every candle on the tree  
Give me your heart for Christmas. "

The man and the women sang a few lines separately, adding harmony to each other. Cas, slightly opening his mouth, watched the snowflakes drifting past him. If he didn't know that the snow is just frozen water, he could have assumed that it was soft like cotton wool, he could fill a duvet cover and warm himself by the fireplace in this weather, warm his legs after a long hunt or a simple walk.  
The song ended as easily as it began, followed by the announcer's voice…  
\- It was "Give Me Your Heart For Christmas" by Jose Mari Chan, one of my favorite songs by the way!, - the radio presenter sounded joyful and cheerful, - On the eve of holidays it's important to remember that the best gifts for loved ones are those that come from the depths of your heart and soul, - the man paused, and then continued in the same happy voice, - The next message we have is from Rachel from Minnesota to her boyfriend Will, - the host cleared his throat, - "Dear Will, these few years that we spent together are the best years of my life. You opened me a new outlook on the world, taught me many things and was always by my side in sorrow and joy. You are the first person in my life that I love so much. I’m sorry that we’ll be apart this Christmas, but that doesn’t stop us from being together after. I am sure that you and I will overcome any difficulties, because together we are much stronger than apart. No matter if the distance between us is tens, hundreds or thousands of miles, my heart is always with you. Thank you for living, my little angel, I love you, see you soon,” - the announcer said it quickly, but no less articulative, so Castiel caught every word and absorbed it. This typical Christmas greeting for some reason caused the same strange feeling in his chest, which limited his breathing, as if squeezing his lungs in a vise. Radio host read a couple more messages, but they were very short and much more ordinary, so Cas left them without any attention. Instead, he began to observe the snow-covered tall spruce, the same ones that they passed just a couple of days ago, while Dean was unconscious in the back seat of Cas' Toyota Yaris. 

Now Castiel was alone, the sun shining with a whitish-yellow light rather than bright orange, as if during dawn. Toyota is now gone, instead of it an incredible beauty reflected the surroundings on the surface of a glossy black interior. The Impala is not as quiet as the Toyota, but these sounds are not distracting at all, let alone unpleasant, they sounded like a purr, as if she was telling you a story while confidently driving you to your destination. Castiel understood even better now why Dean loves her so much. And Dean himself is not here either, he is in the bunker, most likely reading books, wrapped in an old cover made of materials that you better not know of for your own good. Perhaps now he took a break and finally had a late coffee, or, if Cad is very lucky, decided to try the soup that Castiel made. Perhaps his gag reflex has receded and he is bringing the spoon to his mouth right now, blowing lightly on it to cool the contents. He was left there all alone, which worried Castiel, but at the same time he trusted Dean, if he said that he is fine and feeling better, then he really is. Dean entrusted Cas with his precious car, giving him some alone time in return - the least Cas can do for him. Castiel lifted his right hand, lightly stroking the braided surface of the steering wheel with his thumb, returning it to the start again and again. Images began to pop up in Cas's head: Dean's father, John, sat in this very place, when Dean still was a child, and was constantly catching the admiring glances of his first son. It must have smelled of junk food, gunpowder and old spice before, not the pine air freshener Dean had tied to the passenger compartment. Dean sometimes talked about how his father stopped caring about the Impala after Mary died, so Dean had to wash and polish the surface of the car himself every free minute he had to give her that famous glossy shine. Dean only mentioned this when he was under the influence of a lot of alcohol, most often in the late hour, that's when he usually started talking about these topics, because even in his words, they "don't sound very much like daytime small talk." While taking care of the car alone must be hard for a fourteen-year-old boy, Dean never complained about it, saying that, on the contrary, he loved the job, because this way he was useful. Sometimes there were phrases about how Dean deserved this attitude and that washing the car was the least he could do to get some redemption for his crimes. Every time Cas tried to ask why, Dean only deftly changed the topic, leaving this question unanswered. After John's death, the Impala finally belonged to him, but even after being completely destroyed several times, Dean always restored till the almost perfect state, not forgetting all the small details that made her distinctive, unlike her "relatives" . So he kept his and Sam's initials carved inside the cabin, faded green soldier stuck in the backseat door, a couple of Lego parts in the rotary system, so that even her sound could remain the same. He once mentioned that he also always left the same steering wheel, because this is exactly the place where the driver has real physical contact with the car, where he really holds it in his hands. Dean's dad was holding the wheel, curious little Dean wrapped his arms around it, not reaching the pedals, just to look as cool as his dad. He grabbed it gently when his father finally handed him the Impala, squeezed it with his hands until his knuckles turned white, while he chased the damn monsters who took Sam hostage, held it down with one hand when he just went for a little drive... Now Cas holds the steering wheel in his hands, as if holding the hand of Dean himself, who in fact grew up in this car. Now Cas is holding the wheel, from that moment he is also a part of the rich history of the glossy Chevrolet Impala 67.

Castiel had certainly expected to see a lot of people in the hypermarket, but such a large number clearly did not fit into his head. Crowds of people stood in line at the checkout, waiting for their goods to be scanned so that they can finally bring the groceries home. In front of the storeroom itself people moved quickly and unreservedly, reminding Cas more of an anthill than of a civilized structured society. Deciding to go to the grocery store before leaving, he went to the clothing department. There were fewer people there, who mostly moved along the stands, which made it possible to walk freely without bumping into someone. A couple of middle-aged women gave Cas a disdainful gaze, frowning slightly as they examined his sweater, and then turned towards each other and began to whisper something without taking their eyes off him. Castiel just tilted his head to the side a little, trying to figure out what they want, but then quickly moved on to choosing clothes. The sooner he gets back to Dean, the better. Grabbing a pair of socks and boxers, he covered them with a thin layer of two medium-sized white cotton T-shirts that would have gone well with some jeans. Realizing this, he also took a pair of dark denims and new trousers, which in theory should have fitted well on him. He examined the contents of the basket until he remembered that he needed the sweater himself, it was unlikely that Dean would decide to give his to Cas again, although he would have liked that. Angel went to the sweater subsection, moving them one by one, each time rejecting them because of the wrong size, cut or ugly color. Once, he almost missed two sweaters in a row, not having time to see the second one, if not for the edge of the blue sleeve that stuck out a little closer to him, as if stretching in his direction. Pulling a nearby sweater aside to keep it out of the way, Cas' eyes widened in surprise. This sweater was very much like Dean's sweater, that was now on Cas, only instead of the red background, there was a deep blue, and instead of a polar bear, there was a brown bear in the middle, also clutching the silhouette of a heart. Castiel was about to take it straight away and put it in the basket as confidently as any other garment, but suddenly stopped.

What if Dean finds this odd?

Cas froze right in front of that sweater, hand half-extended, not daring to remove it, nor to stretch forward. Dean may look at him in bewilderment or ask directly why he bought exactly THIS sweater. He can ask Cas to bring it back because he will feel uncomfortable with matching sweaters, or simply ask him not to wear it while he is wearing his own... But Dean can also smile when he sees that they are combined, he can laugh a little or come up with some kind of a silly joke. What if that sweater helps Cas see Dean laughing again, hear his voice play like a nightingale's warble, and see the smile wrinkles on the side of his eyes. Castiel took the sweater off the hanger. If that could help cheer Dean up , Cas is all for it. Having tried everything on in the fitting room, he made sure that everything fitted him and went to the checkout. In the shop across the hall, he was able to find himself a warm black winter jacket with a long neckline to protect himself from the snow. He is still not used to the fact that he now needs to wear warm clothes in winter, but the jacket turned out to be quite comfortable. Taking a set of a white knitted hat and a scarf to match it, he put them on and returned to the grocery department. The amount of people there didn't reduce, but half of the work had already been done.

Cas hadn’t been here before, so he wasn’t good at finding the right directions. Trying to find a stand with milk, he walked around every aisle twice, and somehow walked past the cat food department five times in a row. First he took the basket, but noticing that the collected products would definitely not fit there completely, he returned for the cart. He took everything that had been on his list, not forgetting about jerky for Dean and some fruit, which Cas will definitely make him eat so that he stocks up on vitamins and heals faster. When Castiel was trying to find instant coffee, he walked past the gifts section, where discount items were, all with Christmas and New Year themes. Dean wanted to celebrate Christmas, although he himself did not realize this. He was especially happy when Sam mentioned that he would definitely be back before the holiday, Dean had already said that he would like to finally get the three of them and celebrate for real with a table full of food, with Christmas tree, decorated with crystal toys, colorful lights, hissing champagne, theme songs and gift exchange. Cas let go of the cart and, squatting down slightly, began examining the trinkets on the shelves. Here, it seemed, anything could have been found: from small strange notepads with colourful paper to a set of five steel pans. Directly in front of him there were some board games and postcards. Moving a little to the left, Cas tried to find at least something that could catch his eye.  
"On the eve of the holiday, it's important to remember that the best gifts for loved ones are those that come from the depths of your heart and soul," - he recalled the presenter's advice, Cas did not fully understand what exactly it means: "from the depths of his heart" , but something told him that this thing should be somewhat special. He walked over to the crockery, examining plates and saucers in various designs, gift sets and cutlery sets, until his gaze rested on a big mug on the top shelf. On the box, inside which the mug should have been, was a picture of little baby bears playing under the night sky. The mug was wide, which made the sky look grand compared to the little defenseless cubs. “He's surely going to think that I’m obsessed with bears,” Cas thought, and, standing on his toes, took the last remaining mug from the shelf.

No one likes long queues, but especially Cas, who already has been stuck in line at the supermarket for twenty minutes, coming here only for a couple of groceries and one poor mug. Taking out his phone, Cas hoped to become distracted, but noticing the time, he was unpleasantly surprised. It was already seven o'clock in the evening, and because of the winter time, the sky began to darken early, covering the surroundings with a soft, shady blanket, preparing the world for sleep. Cas went to the contacts menu and, lightly tapping on the name "Dean", brought the phone to his ear. There were beeps in the speaker right next to Cas's ear, instead of his friend's voice. A minute later Cas heard the familiar sound of a voicemail recording: "This is Dean's other other phone so you must know what to do, * peep*."

Cas still expected Dean to answer, but he must be asleep.  
"Hello, Dean," Cas began, his voice sounded a little lower than usual, so he cleared his throat as he continued to speak, "I just wanted to make sure you are okay and feeling good, call me back when you get this message."  
Like any other thing that obeys the laws of this universe, the huge queue ended, and he finally left the store, although several times it seemed to Cas that this wouldn't happen and he would stay there forever, among all the chewing gum and mints, not far away from the noisy hum of people.  
The ride back was calm, he didn't turn on the radio to take a break from the incessant sound of conversations and grunts of people in the store. Dim stars began to appear in the sky, indicating the rapidly approaching night. A few minutes later he again drove past those firs, this time they did not highlight anything, resembling dark silhouettes, like guards standing by the road, watching the cars passing by.

Cas drove the Impala into the garage and, as a goodbye, ran his hand over the steering wheel, and got out, taking bags of groceries and clothes from the trunk. He left a bag of clothes in the library, where one of the tables was covered with new books and a couple of journals in which Cas could have seen Dean's handwriting. He was obviously studying something while he was alone, Cas took a deep breath, hoping that Dean was not overworked and, at least in such a state, didn't pass out because of tiredness. But who is he to deceive himself in such a way? Leaving the grocery bags on the table in the kitchen, Cas headed to Dean's room. Carefully opening the door, he saw him lying on the bed on his side, curled up into the shape that resembled a ball, the blanket slid off of him, only covering his legs but mostly spreading on the floor. Cas smiled a little and came close to the bed, took the edges of the blanket with both hands and covered Dean up to his neck, tucking it's parts a little under Dean's body so that he was wrapped in it - in such a soft and warm gray linen. For some reason, Cas took the blanket wrapping as a panacea, as if he hid most of Dean under it now, the flu would immediately retreat and loosen its grip, leaving Dean alone, returning the color to his face and removing the purple bags under his eyes. Dean looked exactly the same as yesterday: strands of hair settling down on his forehead again, slightly tickling the space between his eyebrows. Cas backed off. Kissing Dean was definitely a mistake, he only took advantage of his unconsciousness in order to satisfy that strange sensation in his chest, which is gradually starting to drive him crazy. It’s all witches' fault, period, nothing more, at least Cas was trying to tell that to himself. He left Dean's room without removing the hair from his forehead, quietly closing the door behind him so as not to disturb his sleep.

Cas tidied up the kitchen and put the food in the fridge, staring at the soup. The pot was not large, but Castiel remembers exactly the level of water that was in it before he left. The water level remained the same, Dean didn't eat anything. Cas pulled the pot out of the fridge and looked at its contents. It didn't look as tasty and fresh as before, so he decided to get rid of it. His lungs tightened again, as if his body was turning Cas's thoughts into physical sensations. It's a little sad that Dean never tasted the soup that Castiel had been making for so long, but even though he knows about the effort Cas had put in it for him, he also has, or rather had a photo, so he knows for sure that Cas was trying to cook him something good. But the soup is not that important and the effort is not so important, especially the time wasted, since it really worries Castiel that Dean hasn't eaten in three days. When will his gag reflex pass? Will it pass at all? When will he be able to eat? Maybe he should take Dean to the doctor, otherwise he will simply starve to death? Maybe he ate something other than soup? “But there’s nothing in the fridge but soup,” Cas reminded himself, and kept asking himself questions, hoping to find at least one answer.  
Cas poured the soup out of the pot, getting rid of it completely when he suddenly realized that it might not be the food, but the soup. What if Dean can eat something lighter and simpler than a spicy soup and something that can be easily digested and satiated.  
This time, sorting in his head all the dishes he knew in his head: from omelets to marbled beef with a sauce made from selected berries, growing exclusively in western Germany, he remembered a universal dish that with a high probability will not cause vomiting so that Dean can finally get the strength for recovery by Christmas, to be even healthier as before.  
Cas took the ingredients out of the fridge and the top cabinets that were at the level of his eyes, and started cooking. His legs were tired from a whole day of driving and walking in a huge mall, among an enormous crowd of people, but it didn't matter now. If he can finally feed Dean tomorrow, it'll be more than worth it. Castiel took out the whisk in his right hand, holding the pink translucent bowl of dough with his left hand, began to beat the mass in quick, circular movements. The fact that he will finally see Dean eating really cheered Cas up so much that he began humming "Give me your heart for Christmas" to himself, moving a little from side to side, as if dancing. For one moment it seemed to him that he heard something in the corridor and stopped to examine it, but noticing that it was completely empty, he attributed it to his fatigue, continuing to prepare the dish.  
Castiel did not yet know that at that moment Dean was standing outside the door and, smiling a little, listened carefully to Cas's soft hums, as if it was the best song he had ever heard.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by JustLee.

Waking up in the morning was still very strange for Castiel. There was something weird about it, as if for the first minutes he was only half awake, while the other half of him was still curled up under the gray cotton blanket. He exhaled deeply and took the first step, rubbing his eyes with his hand. When he reached the closet, he changed into one of his newly purchased white T-shirts, which was a little baggy on him and gave him a certain sense of comfort. Probably, Cas will never be able to return to even a little tight things ever again, because after spending a whole day in Dean's huge sweater, which, like a blanket, neatly covered him from all sides, he completely lost the habit of wearing any other type of clothing. It was like if this ugly, stretched out at the neck sweater was a real icon of comfort and warmth.

Uncertain steps behind a closed door put Castiel out of his thoughts and he, without thinking twice,followed the sound.

Dean stood in the hallway with his back turned to Cas. Leaning his hand on the wall and slightly bending his back, he tried to catch his breath. Dean was wearing a long gray robe that was tied loosely around his waist and covered his knees a little. Even the fact that the most of his legs were hidden by the cloth was enough for Castiel to notice how much his legs were shaking.  
\- Dean? - Cas's voice sounded slightly higher than usual as he took a couple of steps towards him. - Are you okay?  
Dean flinched in surprise a little and, trying to straighten his back, replied:  
\- Yeah, good morning to you too, Cas.

He turned towards Castiel and smiled slightly. His face was incredibly pale, like fresh snow, and the huge bags under his eyes were already taking on a purple hue. From the former soft pink blush on his cheeks and lips, which gave Dean a special look, every time incredibly bewitching Cas, now there was no trace of it left. He looked more like a cheap clay figurine from an inept craftsman than a real person. Something in his posture or expression betrayed his state, Cas was absolutely sure that Dean was feeling anything but normal. He tried to shift the weight to his feet, slightly pushing himself from the wall with his hand, but those, disobeying him, buckled and completely succumbed to the gravity of the earth. The dull sound of a body falling to the ground echoed through the bunker and hit Castiel's eardrums with an incredible force. He rushed to the man, trying to somehow soften the fall that had already happened. Cas feared that this fragile vaguely human-like clay figurine wouldn't be strong enough to resist. As if this figure will break into hundreds of small pieces, that will instantly scatter around and unevenly cover the floor. As if all that would remain of Dean's body would be some dry pieces of clay.

But Dean didn't crash, just let out a ragged breath as the back of his head hit the tiled surface with rapid speed. Castiel landed on his knees next to him and, lifting his head, quickly moved it onto his lap.  
\- Dean! - He shouted, as if the fact that he was calling Dean's name could somehow help.  
But there was no answer. Dean's body, without any resistance, succumbed to all of Cas's movements, completely unresponsive to his voice.  
\- Dean! - Cas shouted again and slapped the man on the cheek, hoping to revive him. A fleeting touch was enough for Dean's skin to burn the surface of Cas's palm. He had a fever.

Castiel gently grabbed Dean under the shoulders with his left hand, put his right hand under Dean's feet and stood up, lifting his unconscious body. He was light and very hot again, as he was on the first day in the bunker, when Cas had to carry Dean as well, bypassing all the sharp corners of the hall on his way. Cas grabbed him a little tighter when he had to make a sharp turn towards the library in order to get through the narrow doorway and not hit a wall on accident. Cas carried Dean to the couch and laid him down gently.  
Stepping back, he was about to sit next to him when he felt something wet and warm on his shirt. Looking at it, he was horrified: a huge crimson-red spot extended all the way around the fabric around his belly, completely repainting his white T-shirt with the new color. Convulsively he examined his hands - they were covered in blood up to the elbows. Castiel took a sharp breath and jumped back to Dean, already hitting him more sharply on the cheeks.

\- Dean! Wake up, Dean! Dean!  
He didn't answer, his head only moved to the side a bit, not resisting the blows at all.  
\- Damn it, Dean! - Cas's voice sounded more like a screech than a scream, but that was the last thing that worried him.

He jerked two fingers under Dean's jaw, pressing down on his artery. The heat of his skin and Cas' breathlessness prevented him from concentrating on what was happening, let alone feeling the pulse. Forcing himself to take a couple of deep breaths, Cas pressed a little harder and in response to his touch something pressed from the inside. Cas breathed a sigh of relief and moved his hand to the back of Dean's head, trying to gauge the extent of the injury. Despite the fact that his hands were shaking, his breathing didn't give in to his will at all and a veil of tears began to cover his eyes, he mentally tried to convince himself not to panic, but to think critically and provide any help and provide any help he was capable of at the moment. Gently running his hand through Dean's hair, Cas tried to find the wound with the help of his fingertips, pressing down on the surface of his head as lightly as he possibly could. The warm liquid again came into contact with Cas' hands and began to descend in a thin dark red trickle down the elbow, continuing to stain his clothes.  
\- Everything is going to be fine, everything is going to be just fine, - Cas muttered under his breath, trying to either calm himself down or wake Dean up.

Finally, his fingers stopped as he felt a rough long wound near the man's left ear. If Castiel hadn't seen what happened, he would have assumed that someone hit Dean on the back of the head with some kind of a weapon, surely using tremendous force, but rather than that he just fell on the floor.

The blood had already reached the sleeves of the shirt when Cas took it off with a quick movement and, crumpling it in his hands, pressed it against Dean's head. Tears in his eyes obscured the vision, blurring everything into colored spots, but then again Cas didn't care, all that he needed was to stop the bleeding. What previously had been a snow white T-shirt absorbed so much blood that it was now dyed in burgundy. Unable to resist, Cas couldn't take his eyes off his shirt, trying to calculate the approximate amount of blood loss. "How much is gone already? How much is left? Why is there so much of it? Why isn't Dean waking up? Why did he faint in the first place? How bad is it? What else can I do? Maybe I should call Sam? Maybe I should press harder?" - Castiel couldn't concentrate, the thoughts swarmed in his head, and his heart squeezed harder and harder with every second, as if tightening his lungs along with it, preventing him from taking at least one breath.

\- Dean, wake up. Please wake up, - Cas sobbed, pressing his already almost completely red T-shirt a little tighter, - You can't do this to me, you hear me? Don't do this to me. Don't leave me alone ... I don't want to be alone. You can't do this. Don't leave me. Don't leave me alone. Don't leave me alone. Don't leave me alone. Don't leave me alone. - Castiel buried his forehead in Dean's shoulder, pressing his shirt harder. He simply repeated the same phrase to himself in a whisper, unable to find any other words. Heat was seeping through the surface of the robe and burned Cas's skin, but he sat there, whispering and whispering under his breath. His other hand was wrapped around Dean's, which was noticeably cooler than the rest of his body, like a life vest, as if Cas' life depended on it.

It really felt like he was drowning. He choked in his tears, sobbing each time and trying to say the same words. Something seemed to be pulling him by the legs into the depths of the ocean. Where he couldn't reach Dean, where there was no Dean at all. This squeezing inside of his chest coming from all sides, the streams of icy water that chased through his body again and again, sudden changes in temperature, a feeling of helplessness and fear. Colossal horror penetrated his body, as if passing through it's every atom, filling him with this cold viscous feeling. Fear seemed to flow through his veins and strong pressure throbbed in his head, causing a ringing in his temples. He was drawn to the bottom. Deeper and deeper, into the endless darkness, where even the rays of the sun couldn't reach him, where only cold and silence reigned. The disgusting, restless silence that pierced his ears was louder than anything he had ever heard. Louder than the sounds of a police siren, thunderstorms, volcanic eruptions and explosions. Louder than pure sound. Perhaps he continued to mumble only in order to somehow drive away this all-consuming silence, perhaps in order to somehow reach Dean, but even his own voice already sounded distant and alien, more like a mockery of himself.

Darkness, silence and loneliness dragged him down, as if wrapping its bony cold fingers around his ankles, where there is no light, smell or taste ... Where there is no meaning, purpose or emotion, where ...

Something squeezed his hand. This sensation seemed to immediately reach that depth and throw Cas back to the surface. He lifted his head instantly, examining Dean's face. Dean was laying with his eyes open, taking deep and even breaths, trying to stay awake. A second later dry cough followed. Dean's body contracted again and he squeezed the angel's hand harder and harder with each gust. After calming his cough down after a couple of seconds, Dean closed his eyes and loosened his grip slightly.  
\- Dean? - Castiel looked at the man in dismay, trying to figure out if he was conscious, - Dean!  
\- Stop yelling. I'm here, - a hoarse voice answered and Dean tightened his grip again. - I'm fine.  
Castiel exhaled deeply and relaxed, sitting back on his feet, hands in the same position.  
\- Turn off the light, it's bright as fuck, - Dean spoke up again, covering his eyes with his left hand, trying to hide them.  
\- Yes, sure, give me a second, - Castiel wanted to get up right away, but noticing that he was still holding Dean's hand, he stopped.

Something rushed through his body, making him shudder and freeze up, as if he had just been electrocuted. The sensation of that big cool hand so gently clasping his own, noticeably smaller hand, for a second brought him out of reality. There was something fake and surreal about it, that incredible calmness and comfort that a simple touch could convey couldn't fit into Castiel's mind. There was no trace of that feeling of drowning, as if just a minute ago Cas wasn't immersed in horror and wasn't choking on his own tears, as if it had always been so - his hand in Dean's. It was as correct and as necessary as the need for food or water, as the need for air. Castiel wasn't sure if he would be okay if he let go, if he could live the way he did. But Dean asked him to turn off the light, the bright lighting seemed to blind him. His head probably ached and he was feeling dizzy, which brought him discomfort, and the light, on the contrary, only irritated him more. Castiel stood up, removing his hand and leaving the shirt in its place, immediately feeling lost and unprotected. Reaching the switch as quickly as possible, he plunged the library into darkness, only the dim light from the hall illuminating Dean's dark silhouette a little. He obviously stopped frowning and felt a little more comfortable, holding the crimson cloth with his own hand.

Less than a minute later Castiel entered the library again, holding more fabric and a not very large bowl of cool water. He needed to clean the wound.  
The blood flow clearly slowed down, the T-shirt remained in the same state it had been in when he left, no fresh blood. He sat down next to Dean again, dabbing the cloth in the water and, squeezing it slightly, reached for the man.  
\- Get up a little, let me wash it out. - Castel's voice was more like a whisper than his usual intonation, but now the only thing he wanted was to give Dean some peace. He deserved it.

Dean obediently propped himself up on his elbows, removing the bloody T-shirt from the back of his head with his right hand and handing it to Cas. A new one immediately took its place - absolutely clean and fresh, slightly damp and cool - all in order to finally stop the hemorrhage. Dean lay back, eyes still closed, while Cas just tossed his ruined T-shirt aside.  
\- How are you? - Cas asked, still in a half-whisper. He didn't know what answer he expected to hear. Dean just shredded his head in an attempt to just walk down the hallway, he hasn't eaten at all for several days and has a fever. It's clear that he's not okay, even if he says the opposite. Maybe he asked that to make sure Dean was still there and didn't faint again. Dean took a deep breath and, as he exhaled, replied:  
\- I already said that, I'm fine.  
\- No, you are not.  
\- Well, you got me there, - Dean spoke monotonously and hoarsely, - I'm starving.  
\- Will you be okay here on your own for a couple of minutes? - Cas asked, also already anticipating the answer.  
\- Absolutely. Where would I possibly go?

Castiel left the library again, giving the clay figurine another worried glance before turning around the bend. He grabbed a new clean T-shirt on the way to the kitchen. Walking over to the table, Cas took a deep breath, trying to calm his heartbeat. There were only a few minutes left until the moment for which he had been preparing for a few hours the day before, fumbling with berries, yeast and flour. He couldn't even imagine how hard it would be to make a pie. If there was anything in this world that didn't make Dean gag, it was a cherry pie. It was now laying on the dark oak table, wrapped in five layers of towels to keep it fresh. After spending a few minutes on "skilfullhousewife.com" Cas came to the conclusion that this was the best way to store pies. Of course, he would like Dean to taste it freshly cooked and straight from the oven, but it would be strange to wake him up in the middle of the night, like some maniac, smeared in flour from head to toe and stuffing a piece of pie in his mouth. Picking the cherries was also not the most pleasant experience: they got a little crumpled on the way, some were just unripe or, on the contrary, overripe. Cherry juice trickled down his hands as he tried to keep at least some presentable appearance of them, rather than a crimson mishmash. But besides all that, the goal was definitely worth the investment, if Dean can eat this time, nothing else would matter.

Unfolding the covers, Cas breathed a sigh of relief - the pie was still warm. Older ladies from the cooking forums really know their stuff, to their credit. Taking a couple of pieces, he carefully placed them on a small plate, trying not to crush anything, and brewed some tea. Taking out an aspirin and antipyretic medicine, he placed them on the tray, along with everything else, trying to make it look as appropriate as possible. Cas also grabbed a couple of paper napkins - they are always needed when Dean eats pies, he literally NEEDS them. He always smears the stuffing all over his face, and then wipes it off with the first piece of clothing that he can get his eyes on. "One spoiled T-shirt is enough for today", - Castiel decided and left the kitchen.

As he was approaching the door, Cas slowed down. What if he starts to vomit again? What if the pie is no different? Sitting hunched over in the bathroom with a broken head and a fever definitely wouldn't help him recover. Castiel won't be able to see this again, he would hardly bear to witness such a thing. When the strong and self-confident hunter Dean gradually turns into his fragile and weak likeness, that's what really hurts Cas. He no longer knew if it was the influence of the witches or just strong friendship and pure concern, but something definitely made him worry much more than usual. Maybe it had started even before that? Maybe Cas just didn't notice? He always felt this something inside himself, it paralyzed his breathing, increased his heart rate, probably dilated his pupils. Whether it was a curse or a grace would be difficult to determine.  
Dean has never been completely healthy - his body is covered with numerous scars from constant battles, then there is a damaged liver that was in this state drinking down his severities with heavy alcohol. Not a single hunt went without injuries and cuts - it was inevitable, and yet Dean never cared about it. He knew what he was walking into .

Sometimes when Cas hunted with the Winchesters, he healed them, involuntarily giving a little more energy to heal Dean, along the way sending a little grace to the suffering liver and spleen. So once he relieved him of a hangover, although he only had to heal a couple of bruises on his face. Cas felt as if it was his direct responsibility, something that was nonnegotiable. It was his job - taking care of Dean, curing him, feeding him, sometimes just talking to him. It must have been the same way Dean cares about Sam. This is the natural course of things. As it should be.

Castiel would have loved to cure him this time too. He would have stopped the bleeding in just a couple of seconds. Moreover, he wouldn't have let Dean pass out in the first place. Just one magical glowing touch and Dean is all good. But Cas no longer had the power for that and he even got used to it a little. The second time he already felt a little more confident and less fearful. He can take care of Dean in a humanly way: to strengthen a blanket, give him his pills, make some tea, or bake a cherry pie. He tried his best even in this form, all only in order to make Dean feel better.

Castiel stepped over the threshold, carrying the tray into the library. The lights were already on. Dean was sitting at the table, no longer pressing the cloth to his head. It looked like the blood had stopped completely. He, resting his head on his left hand, flipped through the pages of some old book with legends. Illustrations of wrinkled black figures with sharp teeth and serpentine eyes indicated that he had read about Vetalas. Dean once told a story about how he and Sam hunted them. Quite agile and cunning creatures, luring ordinary residents in pairs, and then slowly drinking them dry, along with all the internal organs. Castiel winced slightly - this was clearly not the best reading before the experimental meal. He set the tray down near Dean, adjusting the contents again and moving a fork closer to the pie plate. After finally putting things in order, Cas sat down on the opposite chair, expecting any reaction. Dean held up his right palm, clearly asking Cas to wait a little while he finished reading the footnotes written in red ink at the very bottom of the page.

Finally exhaling deeply, Dean closed the book and pushed it aside, looking up in Castiel's direction. This feeling pierced him again and, like a cold wave, passed from his heels up the skeleton, forcing him to twitch slightly in the chair. Cas turned his gaze to the tray, clearly asking Dean to look there, who understood the hint and moved his piercing gaze to the plate. Moving the tray right in front of him, where the dusty book waslying just a few seconds ago, he winced slightly, trying to determine what exactly Cas brought this time.

Pushing the mug aside to get a better look, he froze. A small wrinkle between the eyebrows was immediately smoothed out, but a new one appeared on the forehead. He opened his eyes wide, obviously eyeing the plate, as if afraid of what he was imagining. Castiel squeezed himself further into the chair, here it was - the moment of truth. Either Dean was about to eat for the first time in five completely hungry days, or he would again fly headlong into the bathroom, emptying his already completely empty stomach. Seconds seemed to drag on longer than usual. Dean didn't react for a long time, he was just looking at the pie without saying a single word. But five seconds passed, then ten, twenty, thirty, and Dean was still sitting in his place and was in no hurry to leave.

Finally, he raised his head again and met Cas' gaze. In those deep green eyes, it was as if something shone, something came to life and blossomed. They contrasted so strongly with the pale skin and bags under his eyes that it looked even more unnatural than before, but it wasn't any less mesmerizing. His disheveled hair and parted mouth added even more innocence to his expression. Castiel could no longer compare him to a clay figurine, now he looked more like a child surprised by a brand new toy. This is the look that makes all caring moms run to the kids' store, as if hypnotized, like they need that pure childish look more than a couple of saved dollars in their purse.

\- You ... You did it yourself? - Dean broke the silence, looking at the pie and then back to Cas.  
\- Yeah. It's with cherry filling. I thought that you would need to eat at least something. Pie was my best hope. - Cas smiled, still succumbing to that gaze. How could he even resist? Dean was looking at him with such trust and admiration, penetrating deep into his "soul", exploring all parts of his mind, as if trying to spot at least some catch. Dean had mentioned earlier that his childhood was not the happiest time of his life and that he and Sam didn't have a lot of things, especially the luxury of freshly baked pies. Just for a couple of birthdays, John gave the little boys discount cakes from nearby supermarkets, and back then it seemed more than enough. Then Dean must have felt at least a little loved.  
\- My mom used to make cherry pies. - Dean tilted his head slightly and smiled so purely and sincerely that Cas immediately forgot about everything else.

For him there was no apocalypse around, there were no terrible monsters and bloody murders. There was no grief, fear, anger, pain, disappointment or despair - there were only the two of them at this old table made of dark oak (and a still warm pie) . This smile truly sparkled and shimmered like a faceted ruby, shining with all the colors of the light spectrum under a warm sunbeam. This was probably the first time Castiel saw something so beautiful, so perfect. He had seen the birth of stars, the first trees and grasses, varieties of colored fish and bizarre sharp corals, huge waterfalls dumping tons of water from mountain slopes, creating rainbows, numerous sunsets and sunrises over millions of years, which never repeated, but at the same time something so simple and familiar as this smile caused such a surge of emotions in him that Cas couldn't even find any comparisons, couldn't find the right words to describe it.  
Dean neatly cut a piece of pie with the side of a fork and put it in his mouth. The movements were disobedient and awkward, he was clearly exhausted, but that didn't stop him from uttering a satisfied "Mmhm" when he began to chew the pie.  
\- This is deliphios, Caf, - he said with his mouth full and smiled, - This is the best pie ever.  
Cas just kept smiling back as he watched Dean move his hands and jaw as a little cherry tinged his lips bright pink. It wasn't a natural blush, but it made Dean a bit more lively and content.

Each Dean's new bite was followed by Cas' gaze to make sure the piece got into Dean's mouth.

In a different situation, Dean would have asked him to stop staring and turn away, but he probably realized how much it meant to Castiel. It really felt more like a telepathic connection - no need for words, just gestures, glances or sighs. Perhaps this has been the case for several years, or maybe it started happening quite recently, it didn't matter at all. They were here, opposite each other, a couple of centimeters of wood separating them, and nothing else. Nothing at all.

Cas seemed to constantly read Dean's thoughts, penetrating into his head, finding out the most hidden secrets and thoughts that no one else knows about. Most of the demons that Dean and Cas fought together had assumed the same, but it was more of a deeper connection than the usual telepathic interaction that everyone else thought about. It was more difficult, more ambitious, more significant. Like this pie: Castiel was convinced that there was something hidden behind Dean's love of berries and sugar that kept him awake at night, which made him try pies in every eatery that saw standing along the long asphalt highways they were traveling. Something made Dean stop, park his car right beside these shady places and devote about half an hour of his time just to try a dessert. He must have been looking for a special pie, the one that would match the taste of his mother's pie. The same pie that Dean used to stop his tears when he skinned his knees while playing in the backyard of a small house in Lawrence. The same pie for which he went down the creaky stairs at three o'clock in the morning, afraid of being caught by his parents, and then, with a plate full, quietly crept back into his room. The pie is that little piece of childhood he was trying to find again, the love and care he wanted to feel at least one more time.

But Castiel would never go into Dean's head without his permission in order to find this out, in order to put pressure on such sensitive spots. It was not necessary - everything was already obvious. There was absolutely no point in violating any boundaries, because the two of them always had enough of what they already had. At least that was enough before. Now - not so certain. The movie night kiss is a proof for that.  
Even now, at the sight of Dean, his mouth and cheeks smeared in cherries, smiling so purely and sincerely, as if he finally found what he was looking for. This sight made Castiel think about different things, like: "Will Dean treat me better after this?", "Will he tell Sam about this, or will it remain as something special just between the two of us?", " Would Dean now associate me with pies too? " and the strangest, the most incomprehensible and at the same time the most curious: "I wonder if his lips also taste like ripe cherries now.. "

Castiel felt a rush of warmth in his cheeks and looked down, trying to pull himself together and banish those thoughts. Lately he really often starts overthinking over nothing, the witches have clearly done a very good job on the spell.  
\- I'm sorry, - Dean's hoarse voice pulled Cas out of his thoughts and made him look up at the man again. - I can't eat anymore. - Dean pushed the plate forward a bit and looked at Cas from under the eyebrows as if preparing for a reprimanding from him, like a child who didn't finish his food.  
"So innocent," - Cas was about to say, but at the last moment he resisted and replied:  
\- It's okay, - he cleared his throat. - It's very good for the first time. Maybe by evening you will be able to eat a bit more.  
Dean immediately relaxed and just nodded his head in approval, looking away at something on the floor.  
\- Thank you. - It sounded quieter than Dean's previous words, which made Cas lean in a little closer to hear that, to fully imprint it in his memories.  
\- You are welcome, - Castiel said only.  
Dean sighed and combed his hair back with his fingers, reaching for the book, while Cas returned to the kitchen to clean up.

The smell of citrus dish soap was surprisingly irritating to the mucous membranes of his nose and eyes, which made Cas squint slightly as he rubbed the pie plate with a sponge. Among all the scents on the planet, from flowers and honey to pine needles and mint, creators really decided to stop on this cutting chemical smell of mutilated lemons with grapefruits, as if there were no other options at all. Cas wiped the plate as quickly as possible in order to move away from the sink just as quickly, out of the reach of this awful smell. But his plan was interfered by other dirty plates and cups that had accumulated over the course of the previous days, so he could only exhale and continue working. He even sneezed several times, which subliminally brought back memories of his last time being a human.

Back then the problem was not the irritating soap, but rather the lack of it. Cas didn't like thinking about it, but right now it seemed like the best way to distract himself from the washing process. Then Castiel didn't have a roof over his head that could help him hide from the rain on cold nights, no food that he could fill his stomach with, even someone, besides the homeless, who would be worried and looked after him like he wanted to. It was loneliness with a bitter note of grief and fear that followed Cas on his heels wherever he went.

It didn't look like living or even surviving, but more like a daily struggle for the right to have a beating heart and working lungs. But Cas didn't blame the Winchesters for this, and even more specifically Dean who asked him to leave. Dean had no choice but to do that, because otherwise Sam would be in danger, or rather Gadriel, but this was no longer so important. Dean thought he was saving his brother's life, which means he had to do it. Besides, it was rather Cas' fault and Cas' only. He let himself be deceived, he helped Metatron to close the gates to Heaven, he caused the fall and death of so many of his brothers and sisters. Life on the street was the last thing Castiel deserved. He knew that, he came to terms with it, he accepted it as part of his incorrigible past. Now everything is different: he has his own room, food and water in unlimited access, warmth and good company in the person of Dean. Life has improved. Life has gotten better.

If it weren't for Lucifer and Dean's illness, they probably would have arranged a trip somewhere to the east of the country, far away from here, to relax while lying on the warm sand by the ocean, sipping Piña coladas in matching shirts. Dean once talked about it and since then this colorful picture from Cas's imagination has been at one of the highest places on his wishlist, between learning to play the guitar and having a cat, which were pretty high on that list to be honest.

After finally turning off the tap, Cas started wiping water droplets off the countertop, when he noticed something near the table. It wasn't really something, rather someone - Dean. He was sitting on the table, resting one foot on a chair, the other one on the floor, holding a large, shabby book with his hands. He sat hunched over, obviously straining his spine, but still remaining in this position.  
\- Dean? What are you doing here? - Cas asked, drying his hands with a towel. Dean, without taking his eyes off the book, muttered:  
\- I'm reading.  
\- I see that you are reading. Why here?  
\- I was bored. - Dean looked up and smiled, but noticing Cas's face, winced slightly and put the book aside on the table.  
\- What's wrong with your eyes? Did you.. , - he hesitated, - Did you cry?  
\- No, no, - Cas smiled to prove otherwise. - It's dishwashing detergent. The smell is too harsh, this is just eye irritation. - Cas turned his back to Dean, hanging the towel on the hanger, and then turned back again, now facing him. Dean was already dangling both of his legs, eyeing Cas in disbelief, as if trying to spot a catch in his expression.  
\- Hmm, - Dean winced. - You would tell me if something was wrong, right?  
\- Of course, - Cas paused for a moment, then added, - Get off the table.  
\- Nah, I like it here.  
\- Get off the table.  
\- No.  
\- Dean. Get off.  
\- Why?  
\- Do I really need to explain? - Cas lowered his eyebrows, trying to figure out if Dean was serious or just making fun of him, pretending to be a fool. But Dean replied:  
\- Yeah. What's the problem? You haven't washed here yet. If you want, I'll clean it myself now...  
\- That's not the point, - Cas interrupted him, not letting him finish. - It's not hygienic to sit where you eat. You are sick now and catching some other illness besides the flu is the last thing you need. - Cas inhaled deeply and then said in one breath, - I'm worried about you, Dean. Especially after recent... Please don't make me worry any more.

Castiel looked up to meet Dean's gaze, who was already standing opposite him, clutching the spine of the book with both hands. He, turned away, noticing that Cas was looking at him, and then said:  
\- Sorry, it won't happen again.  
\- Good.  
There was an awkward silence between them until Dean straightened up and walked out of the kitchen, apparently heading back to the library. Cas didn't want to chase him away or make him feel uncomfortable, but he knew he was right. Let Dean sit normally at the table there, lean against the back of the chair. It's better than watching him torturing his own back sitting on the place that is made for eating. The best scenario would have been to make him go to bed to fully recover from fainting, but Cas knew it was useless to even try. There is no way Dean is not going to work and Cas can't do anything about it.

After Castiel finished cleaning the kitchen he grabbed the mop and started washing the floor. The first night after Dean fell ill and was laying unconscious in his room, Cas had read so many articles from medical journals and books that he was now an absolute expert on it. Warmth, frequent drinking and wet cleaning were as significant a stage on the path to a quick recovery as bed rest, and therefore it was with this that Cas was going to compensate for the missing.

Judging by the color of the water in the bucket, which became dimmer and dimmer with each new squeeze of the rag, cleaning has not been done here for a long time. It was not surprising - seconds count when it comes to saving human lives, not to mention a couple of hours that will take to clear the dusty floor. If earlier on weekends they could afford such a luxury, now, when seven billion lives are at stake every day, they certainly don't have any time to keep the shine of tiles in the kitchen or in the hallway.

Cleaning is a pretty painstaking task, Cas realized that the hard way. Three floors of the bunker with secret passages, dungeons, huge garage rooms and endless corridors, and all of them must be clean. Cas had already lost count of how many times he had to change the water and wash the rag again and again when he finished cleaning the top floor and half of the second one, except for the library and stairs. His wrists buzzed unpleasantly with tension, and the spine resisted every movement, unable to succumb to Cas, whenever he decided to lean over and wash under the nightstands or tall cabinets, completely filled with documents and supernatural relics. And let's say Cas simply refused to think about the pain in his neck.

Enough for today - he firmly decided and, wrung out the rag for the last time, took it to the laundry room, where he hung it up to dry next to his already washed, previously white T-shirt. The blood wasn't completely washed off, there still were a couple of acrid stains all over the cotton surface. Cas took it in his hands, still amazed that after such an abundant loss of blood, Dean can easily sit in the library and read books as if nothing had happened. As if his pulse wasn't fitful and barely sensible, as if his skin has always been a pleasant light beige shade, and not as pale as a sheet of paper and as if Cas didn't choke on his own tears, screaming Dean's name.

It never happened, it was just a dream. Perhaps if not for traces of blood Cas could have convinced himself of this, but holding such clear evidence, self-hypnosis clearly didn't work and could no longer generate more and more excuses for why Dean was really okay. He wasn't okay, and this T-shirt was the proof of that. Castiel crumpled it and threw it into the nearest trash can, heading to the library to make sure once again that Dean didn't budge, but spent several hours in the same chair, barely getting up a couple of times just to drink a glass of water, or get himself more books in wobbly bindings.

When he reached the library, he noticed Dean standing by the bookshelf, stacking previously taken books. Cas came closer and asked:  
\- Was there anything useful?  
\- Nah, nothing, - Dean replied, not looking up from the process of returning the books to their place, - I bet you are tired, right?  
\- A bit, - Cas lied, rubbing his neck with his fingers, trying to stretch it and relieve the tension a little.  
\- What about taking a break from work and doing something more fun?  
\- What are you talking about?  
\- Do you know the third vault in the basement, the one with a lot of boxes? - Dean said, putting another book on the shelf.  
\- What about that?  
\- There in.. , - Dean hesitated a little, as if trying to remember something, - I think in the left corner somewhere on top there is a cardboard box that says "Useless stuff". Could you bring it? There are a couple of things in there.  
Cas took a deep breath as his neck finally began to relax a bit, then replied:  
\- Okay, I'll be right back.

As soon as he got up his legs started aching capriciously again, as if complaining that he got up instead of staying on the chair. It was a sharp and pulling sensation, which immediately made him feel several times more tired. Castiel only experienced this for a couple of minutes, and Dean has to be in this state every day and at the same time pretend that he is completely healthy. In the articles that Cas read it was said that people with the flu experience very severe weakness and muscle aches throughout the body, which is the reason why many people cannot do any household chores until they fully recover. And then here is Dean, who spends several hours reading and constantly brainstorming, not giving himself a minute of rest. "Maybe he didn't stop working because he was waiting for me to finish. Maybe he wanted us to take a rest together" - Cas thought and smiled slightly. He liked it.

Having reached the third vault, he began to open the wooden door, as it, not wanting to give in to the pressure, bumped against something on the other side. Looking inside, Cas noticed several boxes in the front that were clearly not going to move on their own and free a passage for him. Cas exhaled and, crawling through the door crack with difficulty, made his way inside. The third vault was known for always being stuffed with completely different things in a completely messy way. It seems like it was easier to actually find a needle in a haystack than the box Dean mentioned. There was no light source inside, so Cas could only hope for a faint light from the hall and the strength of his incredible luck.

Squeezing between the boxes, he moved them from side to side, trying to make out the inscriptions made on them with black and red sharpies in order to eventually find the one he needed. "Left corner, somewhere on top," - Castiel muttered and moved to the left. The tall pillars of boxes were clearly not very stable and were mostly filled with something related to demons or deadly things. Cas continued to make his way deeper and deeper, where the light almost did not penetrate, until he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

\- Cas? - Dean's voice came from outside.  
\- What? - Castiel answered him, walking around another post and stepping over a couple of fallen boxes.  
\- Didn't mean to say it, but, - Dean cleared his throat, - I got it wrong, it's in the right corner...  
\- Are you serious? - Cas answered irritably and stopped, trying not to hit the boxes.  
\- Yes, sorry. How far have you come?  
\- Far enough.  
\- Damn, we keep dangerous things in the left corner mostly .., - Dean hesitated a little, as if realizing something, - Cas, stay where you are and don't touch anything, I'm going after you.  
\- What? Don’t, I’ll make it myself. - Cas was about to climb back up, but Dean interrupted him again.  
\- I said stay where you are, this is nonnegotiable , - Dean's guilty voice completely changed to his serious one, which didn't allow Castiel to say anything in response. The dim light from the corridor somewhere in front disappeared for a couple of seconds when Dean climbed inside too.  
\- There are several aisles, so you’ll say where you were going, okay? - Dean's voice was already clearer, but no less distant.  
\- Well, at the very beginning I went to the left, and from there to the right.  
\- To the right? Are you sure?  
\- Yes, I am sure.  
\- Okay, I'm coming for you, - these words were followed by a grunt made by Dean, who, like Cas, tried, to go by all these boxes and not touch any of them. It was really remarkable how many items The Men of Letters kept in their pantries. This large room looked more like a labyrinth than a typical warehouse. The number of forks and turns was really confusing and could easily make anyone walk around the room for half an hour trying to find a way out. Entering there, Cas wasn't sure that he would leave the same way that he took while getting here, and therefore he was glad that Dean came for him. What he was definitely not happy with was that there was now a chance that something deadly and heavy would fall on Dean. If he faints now just as unexpectedly as before, Cas will not be able to run up to him like the last time.

\- There are four forks further, which one did you go to? - Dean asked, trying to find the right direction.  
\- Third, I think , - Cas replied uncertainly, clearly doubting his words. It was difficult to remember the number of the direction when you crouch on the floor in the dark, guiding yourself mostly by touch.  
\- You think or you know?  
\- I think... - Cas answered a little more quietly, trying all the same to remember whether this is so, but he was completely unsure of his words. A small wave of anxiety swept over him, the last thing he wished was getting lost with Dean in a pantry full of weapons and cursed objects.  
\- Okay, okay, I'll go to the third one,- Dean answered and, judging by the sounds, continued moving.

Cas completely forgot how he got there and where exactly he got, he somehow didn't think about it. All that remained in his head: left, then right. He stood on his tiptoes, trying to peer behind the boxes to see Dean, but ended up hitting one of the front posts that swayed from it, making the sound of breaking glass inside. It bent down so hard that for a second it seemed that Cas was about to be covered with something heavy and obviously sharp, but at the last moment it stopped and continued to stand tilted.  
\- Damn, Cas, I said not to touch anything! - Dean shouted, - Are you okay?  
\- I'm fine, I'm fine.  
\- Stay there. - His voice sounded even closer, as if they were separated by only a couple of turns, - I'm already close. Everything is okay.

Dean's voice worked like a panacea and Cas relaxed immediately, feeling a little calmer. His voice sounded not as deep and expressive as before, now it was with a slight hoarseness, but at the same time Dean remained very convincing and to some extent pacifying.

Castiel heard the rustle of the rubbing of Dean's clothes on the surface of the cardboard begin to peel away, so he tensed again.  
\- Dean, I think you're going the other way.  
\- Yes, I think so too.  
\- What if we follow each other's voices? That way we can meet faster and find our way back together.  
\- I said stay where you are.  
\- I know, but this way we'll get out faster than if you wander there alone.  
Dean took a deep breath, clearly doubting it, and then said even more seriously:  
\- Okay. But we'll do this very carefully. We will need to say something to each other in order to constantly hear where we are. What shall we say? We need something simple and short.  
\- Hmm, what about "I'm here”? Briefly and clearly.  
\- I’m here? - Dean said interrogatively.  
\- Yes, that's it. I hear you. I'm here.

\- I'm here.

\- I'm here.

\- I'm here.

\- I'm here.

\- I'm here.

The rustle began to approach, Dean was clearly not far away, Cas made his way to meet him, stepping over and bending under the boxes. The voice was very close, literally right around one corner. They continued to repeat the same phrase in turn, at the end with more cheerful voices, when they realized that they were not so far away from each other. Rounding the corner, Cas bent down once more, making his way to the other side as he crashed into something warm.

\- I'm here, - flashed over Cas's head and he, looking up, saw the outlines of Dean's messy hair.

Cas straightened up, standing closely next to Dean and looking into his eyes, which gleamed brightly with the golden light from the hallway.

-I'm here.., - Cas said in a half whisper, taking one ragged breath after another. Dean is so close. He stands directly above Cas, glancing back at him without breaking it or stepping back. He smiled, creating a couple of happy lines around his eyes, then squeezed Cas's hand with his and said again:

- _I'm here._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by JustLee.

Perhaps time stopped, Cas couldn’t say for sure.

Something was holding him back, he wasn't able to move to the side, say anything, breathe. It was a strange, mixed feeling, which was going through his entire body, piercing every inch of his skin, every eyelash, every fingertip. It was like an electric shock, tingling everything it touches, carrying a feeling of growing anxiety and uncertainty. He wanted to give everything up, run away as far as possible, hide from this all-consuming gaze, which was clearly penetrating the deepest part of his soul and left a caustic trace along it's way.

It seemed to touch him from all of his sides, investigate, subordinate him to it’s will. It was scary how much it influenced him, how it took his breath away, how it made his legs tremble and his lips involuntarily tighten. It was a complete submission. Unquestioning, unconditional. Cas was terrified of how much power this feeling possessed, how much it enslaved him, how it deprived him of his will.  
But he didn't step aside, didn't look away, didn't unclench his hand, didn't utter a sound, as if afraid to frighten it, fearing that it would end.

He didn't want to admit it, but he liked the feeling.

_God, he loved it._

It was like a storm that caught you off guard in the middle night in a coniferous forest somewhere in the middle of March. A feeling of anxiety, fear, uncertainty, when the next clap of thunder brought a new flash of electricity, illuminating the dark cloudy sky. There was no escape from this, it was here, stretching tens of kilometers ahead, drowning everything in its path. The roaring wind tore pieces of dry bark from the mighty tall fir trees, carried them forward, tossed them to the side of the cracked asphalt road. Cas seemed to find himself in that forest, under that fir that could fall at any moment, succumb to the pressure exerted on it, but as if realizing that Cas had shrunk below, it stood, firmly grabbing its roots into the wet cold ground. It was a protected place, it was a feeling of unconditional security, trust.

Everything around him seemed to threaten to pull him out of there, tear him off that tree, sprinkle him with large drops of rain, completely wet his clothes, but the fir protected him, hugging him with its hot branches, as if with human hands, not allowing a single cold drop to reach his forehead.

It was warm there, even cozy, to some extent. The smell of pine needles, faint hints of sea buckthorn and a third, seemingly unrecognizable smell filled his lungs, warmed him from the inside. He didn't want to leave, let go, surrender to the storm. For the first time in a long time he felt in his place, exactly where he should have always been. It was such a beautiful place, such a beautiful fragrance, such a beautiful feeling, such beautiful eyes.

Such beautiful Dean.

He was standing directly opposite, towered over Cas, covering most of the room behind him with his broad, slightly dropped shoulders. His hot fingers wrapped around Cas's palm, completely covering it, as if hiding from the outside world and its danger. Only the two of them were here. No one else, not a single soul. Everything is as it should be, everything is as it needs to be.  
Cas tried to inspect every detail, every seam on Dean's robe, every glint in his eyes, every freckle on his forehead and carefully save them, as if to capture on an old film camera, and then carry this precious photo in his shirt pocket, right on the chest...

Could Dean feel it too? What if he doesn't want to let go either? Maybe he knows something about it, he can explain what it is. Because it was unlike any spell Cas had ever encountered before..

Castiel took a deep breath, still staring at Dean's deep emerald eyes, and then murmured:

\- Can you feel it too?

Dean tensed a little and looked away, loosening his grip. The saving paws of the fir immediately disappeared from Cas' sight, dissolving into thin air, leaving Cas to be torn apart by a rushing stream of icy rainwater. What answer did Cas expect to hear? What answer could possibly please him? Why did he even do this?  
He made Dean feel uncomfortable.

Again.

But Dean, looking up somewhere at the ceiling, finally answered:

\- What exactly?

Cas didn’t think twice, wasn't wasting time trying to find the right words. It was on the surface, it was so obvious. He didn't know how to describe it, how to convey it so that Dean knew exactly what he meant, so he just blurted out:

\- Heat. The heat is everywhere.

Dean let out a sigh of relief, as if expecting something else, glancing quickly at Cas's face, and then back at the ceiling.

\- Yeah, it's pretty hot in here. - he paused for a couple of seconds, looking around the room. Noticing the dim lights of the light bulb in the hallway, Dean squeezed Cas's hand a little tighter and pulled him along, making his way through the many boxes that stood in front of him. - Come on, we need to get out of here.

He was walking confidently forward, continuing to hold Cas's hand, coming closer and closer to the exit. When they had to take a right turn in order to go through the door, Dean continued to move forward, as if completely oblivious to the opening to freedom.

\- Where are we going? - Cas asked, still obediently continuing to follow Dean. He didn't stop, didn't pull him back or release his hand, only continued to follow him, not taking his eyes off of him. A gray robe hugged his back, emphasizing the sharp shoulder blades and waist, as if delineated his silhouette with a warm dense fabric. Cas couldn't help but look at the back of his head, trying to make out the wound so well hidden in the darkness of the room and Dean's thick blond hair. Dean himself moved much more confidently, maybe the pie had already helped and sugar ‘hit’ him in the head, which gave him an energy boost that he really needed, or maybe he just got better. Either way, Dean was recovering. And Cas was glad because of it.

\- Have you forgotten why we came here? - Dean let out a slight chuckle, turning his head towards Cas for a second, - I told you about one thing... If you hadn't got lost in the boxes, we would have already had it.  
Dean clearly said it jokingly, judging by his cheerful voice and the pressure with which he continued to squeeze Cas' hand, but the angel couldn't let go of it just like that. No. There was no way he could let it go.

\- We would already have this "thing" if you hadn't confused left with right, Dean, - Cas said this, with mockery, obviously deliberately highlighting the word "thing", wanting to emphasize it for some reason. He still didn’t know what they had spent at least fifteen minutes of their lives on, as Dean himself said, among mostly dangerous or heavy things. Only there, among the huge boxes, unstably standing on top of each other, dangerous and heavy were equalized and became simply dangerous.

Cas was about to add something else, but Dean suddenly slowed his pace and squeezed Cas' hand even tighter, so that Dean's thumb and middle finger touched each other, completely encircling Cas' palm, as if in a warm hug.

\- Yeah, you're right... I'm sorry, - said Dean in a guilty voice, - It's my fault. You could be hurt or...  
\- No, Dean, it's okay! - Cas wanted to interrupt him, but Dean, as if not noticing it at all, continued and said:  
\- Or worse. I shouldn't have let you go here on your own, let alone sending you in a completely different direction. It was stupid, Cas. I'm so sorry. This is so stupid.

Dean tensed, leaning forward slightly as if trying to hide from something. He always did this when he felt guilty. He didn't try to appear taller, as he did during fights, standing with straightened shoulders, raising his head high, looking confidently forward, as if nothing could oppose him or stand in his way; but as soon as he was worried, found himself locked in a desperate situation, or simply felt like he was in danger, he squeezed, involuntarily frowning. Cas couldn't see his face now, but he had seen it enough times before to know exactly what and where some of the wrinkles appeared. These were no more guesses, only simple knowledge and observation, accumulated over the years spent together.

Dean never showed this face to monsters, demons, witches or vampires - it was too intimate, too natural. It was sincere Dean, no fake or pretense, no embellishments and no masks.  
It was Dean, the real Dean.

Once upon a time, a couple of years ago, when Cas first saw this expression, it seemed to him that he had never seen anything more sad than those drooping pointed eyebrows and wrinkles at the corners of those usually bright green eyes. He spent all night on Sam's laptop, trying to figure out what was wrong with Dean. Some websites led to others, links after links that he opened didn't show him anything new, until he came across an article about PTSD, or rather, PTSD acquired by Childhood Trauma.

Dean didn't have a happy childhood and was never really a child, Cas knew about it, but didn't realize before. His father perceived him as a soldier, like a bag from which he could knock shit whenever he wanted or use as a bait to catch another regular monster; but not as a little boy who once dreamed of becoming a fireman and helping people fight the fire caused by an unstuffed cigarette or scented candle with a smell of vanilla, bought at a sale on Amazon, but not blow the brains out of some bloodthirsty creature. As a child, he was never supposed to even touch a weapon, but still, by the age of twelve, he had already mastered all types of firearms his father had in the trunk. Dean never wanted such a life for himself, let alone Sam, but he didn't run away or complain once about it, he just saved it to himself, and later began to bury it inside with some cheap alcohol from roadside bars. Dean was supposed to be a good son and brother, his personal problems always were insignificant.

Dean was injured, not only physically, but also mentally and Cas knew about it. He went through it too, and therefore he couldn't watch as Dean again assumed his safe posture, becoming almost the same height as Cas, so much tension in his shoulders. He walked around him, and stopped in front of Dean, finally seeing his face again. Cas was completely right: the drooping eyebrows, the wrinkles at the corners of the eyes - everything remained the same, as always. Dean was staring at the floor, not looking up, as if afraid to face his father's furious gaze along with a couple of "good old" reproaches and accusations. But his father was gone, he has not been here for a long time, Dean was safe and Cas wanted to show him this. He had to show him this. Dean needed this.

\- Hey, Dean, - Cas began softly. Dean was still standing with his eyes down, not wanting to face the angel. Cas grabbed Dean's arm with his free left hand, starting to smoothly stroke the outside of his palm.  
\- It's okay. Nothing happened, everything is fine. Dean, I'm fine, nothing fell on me, nothing hurt me. I feel great, you came just in time.

\- What if I didn't have enough time..- Dean clearly continued to sink into his thoughts, passing half of Cas's phrases deafeningly. He visibly clenched his jaw, so that his cheekbones became even more noticeable, and his breathing began to go astray. Cas couldn't let this go any further, so he continued talking.

\- But you made it, right? You came just in time, just when I needed you. You appeared here immediately, came to my aid. You came all the way through the boxes to get me back while holding my hand like I am some kind of a kid, Dean.

\- But ...- Dean seemed to be trying to argue, but clearly couldn't think of what to add, so he stopped talking again.

\- I said it's okay, don't worry. Let's take what did we come here for, okay? - Cas lifted Dean's hand a little higher, continuing to gently stroke it with his thumb, Dean was still in a stupor, his eyes darting from side to side, as if remembering something. Cas accidentally disturbed something in Dean and he couldn't let him drown in this feeling. No. Not on his watch.

\- Dean, look at me, - Cas whispered, tilting his head to the side, trying to catch Dean’s gaze, but he just took a deep breath,  
\- Dean. Look at me. Please, look at me. - The man, as if at will, lifted his head, meeting Cas' gaze. His long eyelashes pressed against his upper eyelid and curled slightly at the ends, which gave him a doll-like look. Dean is beautiful, Cas couldn't stop reminding himself of that.  
\- Good. - Cas paused for a moment, examining his face, and then asked, - Are you okay?

Dean, as if fully awake, took a deep breath and smiled (clearly fake) as he pulled his hand out of Castiel's. He ran his fingers through his hair as if trying to fix it, and then looked around and said:  
\- Let's finish here as soon as possible, I hate this place.

Cas said nothing, just nodded in approval and followed Dean again, who finally moved from his place and continued his way through the labyrinth of cardboard boxes and wooden crates.

They got to the opposite wall, when they saw a rack, slightly slanted to its right side, also packed to the brim with all sorts of things in various packages. It was much more spacious here than on the left side of the vault, which gave them the opportunity to stand freely, without the fear of touching anything.  
On the middle shelf there were cardboard boxes, among which, presumably, should have been the "Useless Stuff" so much desired by them. Dean walked forward, confidently reached for the most battered one and moved it to the floor. On top of the package was the lettering they wanted, in Dean's handwriting, clearly made using a cheap permanent marker.

Cas didn’t know what he expected to see inside: some relics, spells, books, or movie cassettes, but Dean pulled out a smaller box, that was painted blue, white and yellow, with a smiling old man on the front.  
\- Oh, there you are, my dear, - Dean held the box with pride and pulled it forward so that the name on it was readable to Cas. On the top of the box, from the left to the right edge, extended the inscription: "Monopoly".

\- What is it? - Cas tilted his head slightly, trying to predict Dean's response from the look on his face, but Dean only smiled as he wiped off a thick layer of dust from the box, which made the colors look a little brighter on it. Clearly, it was many years old: on the sides there were stains from some kind of liquid, torn corners and a box lid were scratched in several places.

Dean smoothly ran his fingers along the edge of the box, smiling blissfully as if meeting an old friend. Perhaps this thing was to some extent dear to him, since he was so happy just from the sight of it. Dean let out a small chuckle, then turned to the side, facing Cas:  
\- This is the best game ever, Cas. Come on, we got what we needed.

Dean tucked the box under his arm and, turning towards the exit, moved forward. As soon as Cas's legs were outside the vault, he breathed a sigh of relief, glad that his journey through the world of heavy dusty boxes was finally over.  
Dean walked quickly in the direction of the library, as if he had forgotten that Castiel was with him. He looked distracted, lost in his thoughts and memories, only this time the memories seemed to be pleasant. He couldn't stop smiling - so Cas smiled back at him, watching the corners of Dean's lips draw charming arcs.

When he reached the table in the library, Dean neatly set the box down, and flopped into a chair. Cas couldn't help but notice all the excitement around it, Dean seemed to be glowing with happiness, as if looking at a sacred relic. Cas, without taking his eyes off of him, sat right in front of him, placing his hands on his lap to give Dean some space to lay out everything inside the box. A large mint-colored playing field with many different cells along the contour took up a large area of the table, and a pile of cards and two grayish-beige cubes looked more compact and small, as if specially freeing up space for the rock star of the table.

A strange, bitter, but at the same time familiar, smell emanated from the box and its contents. Cas must have already sensed it somewhere, but probably under the influence of the time and conditions of detention it almost disappeared, leaving only a slight tingling sensation in his nose. He sensed it in greater concentration in the parking lots of cheap motels, in the dark narrow back streets of dusty cities, and in the homes of alcoholics who, in their hungover delirium, swore that they had seen their dead aunts and uncles cursing at them from heaven. Such alcoholics always became the reasons for the senseless driving across the states and wasted gasoline on the road, because instead of the ghosts that the "innocents" person so clearly broadcast about, Sam and Dean only found traces of dementia and loneliness dissolved in some transparent orange liquid.

To be completely honest, Dean sometimes smelled like that, passing out at the bar, tucking the sleeve of his jacket under his head, and then imprinting hard material on the crook of his nose. At that time Dean didn't smell like needles and autumn freshness. There was something else, something alien, as if spoiling him, ruining. It was the smell of a certain type of alcohol that circulated through his veins on evenings like this, biting into his skin. Cas was sure it was the smell of whiskey.

All the cards, figures, cubes and the field itself carried this fading, but still recognizable smell. Dean, as if completely oblivious to it, grabbed the handwritten sheet with both hands, reading something, muttering under his breath. After a couple of seconds he lowered it, exhaled, and began to shuffle the cards.

Dean did it confidently, with only muscle memory being noticeably involved. He must have done this many times in the past, but Cas didn't know when exactly. In all the seven years that he spent with Dean, he had never seen this box, and even more so, Dean so masterly shuffling the cards of this board game. Dean knew how to do so many things: fix cars, play poker and billiards, understand films better than anyone else in the world, and his knowledge of monsters could only be envied.

He knew how to cook, sew up wounds, handle weapons and fight. For a second it seemed to Cas that Dean knew absolutely everything, as if Castiel, who was several hundred times his age, was just an incomprehensible idiot who only occupied the precious time of the great master. Dean has only been in this world for a couple of decades, but he already retained so much knowledge and skills that Cas had no choice but to quietly admire him. He must be doing it too often - admiring Dean, but Castiel couldn't help it, it just happened on its own, catching him off guard every time. It's a distracting and sometimes annoying feeling, but Cas drowned in it anyway, filling his lungs with it similar to filling them with air.

Dean finished his preparations and finally leaned against the back of the chair. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at Cas, who was still sitting awkwardly in front of him, his hands on his knees.  
Dean closed his eyes a little, twirling the silver figurine in his hands, and then said:  
\- Do you know how to play?

Cas looked down at the bookshelves as if trying to hide from Dean's gaze. He looked embarrassed that he didn't know the rules of a simple human game. Realizing that silence wouldn't solve anything, Cas just shook his head, shifting his legs under the table. Dean, as if not noticing all this, simply replied:

\- Okay, then I'll explain it to you.

Cas clearly liked the idea, and looked up as Dean pointed to the cards and squares on the board and explained what they were for. Castiel listened intently, trying to pay attention to every single word Dean said, but after Dean got down to a more detailed explanation, Cas somehow forgot everything he had said to him before. He was still listening, and closely watching Dean, but it felt like all the information just passed by, not lingering in his memory. It seemed to Cas that there were so many nuances that he literally began to get lost in them, trying to grasp at least some meaning. Catching himself thinking that he didn't understand anything at all, he decided to switch to something more fun. Dean, actively gesturing with his shaking hands, joyfully trying to explain the meaning of the cards for the third time in a row. He jumped from topic to topic, talking about some things several times, while completely forgetting about the others. Cas enjoyed watching this show, despite Dean's apparent physical fatigue, bags under his eyes and disheveled hair, he seemed to be glowing, illuminating Cas, who only slightly fell under the light emitted by Dean.

There was only a meter of distance between them, if not less, but this didn't prevent Cas from feeling distant, as if hiding in the dark, afraid to go out into the light. Dean was so engrossed in his presentation that he couldn't even notice the look Cas was giving him. For a second, it reminded the angel of his evening on the hill, that cold winter evening under the dome of stars, when Dean was still unconscious, and Cas went outside only to be fascinated by the burning dots. Dean was like them: just as bright, warm, sincere and pure, but no less distant. Perhaps Dean seemed even further away than the stars. At one point Cas felt that it would be easier for him to touch the stars, to throw his hand into the blazing hot gas, than to touch Dean's hand. Dean seemed hotter and more scalding than the stars. Something inside Cas was holding him back from the temptation bursting him from the inside from "accidentally" touching Dean's fingers.

Cas was scared. He didn't know of what exactly he was, but he was. He clasped his hands together, squeezing them as if trying to calm his suddenly accelerating pulse.

Dean, sensing something amiss, stopped, putting the figurines aside.

\- Are you okay? - He asked, leaning a little closer to get a better look at Cas, - You are kind of distracted today, maybe you should take a break?

Cas, almost immediately coming to his senses, blurted out in response:  
\- No! It's okay, I'm just ... - he tried to find the right word, - Confused. There are so many exceptions and rules. How do you remember all this? - He tilted his head to the side, meeting Dean's gaze for the first time in ten minutes.

Dean hummed something, looked around the playing field and said:

\- It comes with time. The main thing is to start, then you will remember it. Sam and I had to re-establish the rules on our own. - He smiled and put his hand on a handwritten piece of paper, torn in several places. - Sammy was quite popular at school in Idaho. Actually pretty popular in all schools, - Dean laughed slightly, - He was a very nerdy kid but still popular with ladies. Anyway, he sometimes went to visit his classmates, where monopoly was just gathering dust on the shelves, he used every opportunity to memorize the rules, and then rewrite them for ours. Here, just look at how he spelled "mortgage". - Dean pointed to the "mohage" in roundish handwriting, chuckling a little. Cas couldn't help but smile too.

\- You didn't have your own rules for Monopoly? - he asked, finally placing his hands on the table in a more relaxed manner.  
\- Nah, it was without the rules book. I bought this beauty for Sam for, - Dean hesitated, remembering something, - His ninth birthday, I think. It was for an 8 bucks at a garage sale in Knoxville. The quality was shitty, but Sam still loved it.  
\- You're a very good brother, Dean, - Castiel smiled gently, not taking his eyes off the man. Dean's cheeks, as if hearing what Cas said, turned pink and highlighted a few faded freckles on his cheekbones. Dean looked away with an embarrassed laugh, then replied:  
\- Hah, yes, I guess. Oh, we had a craze for figurines too. Our figurines were not included in the kit, so we replaced them with lids and stones, but exchanged everything around for original ones. It was fun. - Dean pulled the figures out of the box, arranging them in a row. They were slightly different in shade, but looked pretty similar - all silver and the size of a phalanx of a finger. It was a cat, some kind of boot, a shaggy dog, an old car and a thimble. They were strangely contrasted with each other, but they looked pretty nice. Dean propped his head on his hand and said:

\- Which one do you choose?  
Cas looked at Dean, then at the figures and then at Dean again.  
\- Can I choose any?  
\- Absolutely any.  
\- Hmm, - Cas grimaced at the figures. The thimble looked pretty good, so did the dog, but for some reason he liked the cat the most. It looked graceful and confident, completely opposite to Cas, so he involuntarily reached out to it, taking it from the line of similar figures. - I'll take the cat.  
\- Okay, I'm gonna go with the car.

They put the figures on the starting square and for some reason the time quickly accelerated. Without even noticing, they went through the third circle and Dean was already the owner of the hotel, Cas so far only owned only a factory, but surely didn't plan to stop there. Dean liked to comment on every action he did: when he tossed the dice, took a card or a couple of dollars from Cas's savings for a stay at, as Dean called it, his "magnificent" hotel. He was particularly encouraged, raking money from Cas, as if he was some kind of senile wife, taking more and more property from her ex-husband during the divorce. Cas also got into the process of the game and by the fifth round he acted almost reflexively, only reflecting some of Dean's moves and tactics. Dean was constantly laughing, the smile just didn't leave his face, reminding Cas of his beauty. Cas looked from his bank to the cards, from them to the property and cast frequent glances at Dean, admiring him with fascination. It was as if Dean had dug up a child in himself, pulled him out and sat him at the table, and not a thirty-year-old man who was tired because of a head injury and illness. He looked lively, joyful, even in some way happy. He was completely relaxed, sitting crookedly at the table with his bent knee placed under him. Dean's estate continued to grow, and Cas' bank only deteriorated as he had to pay Dean more and more "mohage" each time.

Time flew by quickly. If the bunker had windows Cas could have watched the sunlight making its golden way through the branches of the trees to the horizon.

Everything carried calmness and serenity, but there was one thing that made Cas uncomfortable every time he reached for a new card. Several cards were stained not only with whiskey, but also with something red. It seeped deeply under several layers of cardboard, causing the flat surface of the cards to bubble and flake. On some cards there were only small droplets, others were almost half painted in burgundy. Cas didn't ask this for several rounds, fearing to disturb Dean's cheerful mood, but when on the next turn he came across a completely red card, he couldn't restrain himself anymore.

\- Dean? - Cas asked, holding the damaged card with both hands. - Why is it covered in ... blood?  
Dean shrank a little and just took it from Cas's hands, putting it aside.  
\- It has deteriorated, take a new one.  
\- You don’t want to answer? - Cas clearly pressed a nerve asking Dean this, but he truly wanted to know why the game meant for children was stained with blood. Blood and monopoly, in Castiel's understanding, were completely opposite things, as if they came from two different worlds. The first world was carefree - filled with sincere smiles and laughter coming from children on the playground, and the second smelled of damp and discomfort, it was a world of horror and a thirst to kill; the world in which the current Dean spent most of his time. It was a poured contrast, like ice cream and a double-barreled gun, like a child's sand bucket and a trunk filled to the brim with weapons, like a book with colorful pictures and a prayer book with exorcism. Dean was not a part of the first world, he wanted to be, but couldn't afford it. The second world grabbed him, pulled him into its embrace without waiting for his consent or approval. It gave him a demon knife, it took his parents away from him, it wounded him and gave him a deep scar on his back and it made him drink at night. Cas rubbed salt into the wound, but he needed to know what so terrible little Dean could face that the thought of blood on children's cards made him shrink.

Cas wanted an answer from Dean, an explanation, some backstory, but Dean just handed him a new card and said:  
\- Look, it's less dirty. It's okay, as long as we can read what is written here, we can play in peace.  
The phrase sounded memorized, like Dean had said it hundreds of times before, if not more. Cas didn't want this to lead to another of Dean's panic attacks, so he just nodded, taking the card from his hand.

After that, the game was more constrained and awkward, Dean didn't comment on everything so actively, and Cas began to lose less money. It was over after about an hour when Dean started yawning and rubbing his eyes tiredly. After completing another round, Cas and Dean called it a night and left everything on the table, lazily wandering to their rooms. They exchanged good night wishes and fell asleep at about the same time, curled up under the covers on that cold winter night.

From that day on Dean started waking up later, bumping into Cas in the kitchen every time. He sat down at the already set table, drank coffee and ate some pie, and after that set off on an exciting journey through books with disgusting illustrations and even less pleasant descriptions. If before he read something random, now he was more focused on the topic of the archangels, and more precisely - Lucifer. Sam called several times a day, reporting on the success of his operation and whispering complaints about Garth and his absent-mindedness. One day he said: "I'm surprised he's still alive," and Dean laughed and replied: "Yeah, the guy is a legend."

Castiel kept an eye on Dean's medication schedule and temperature check, not forgetting about pie and hot green tea. Dean always insisted on black, but Cas, referring to the large amount of caffeine, didn't listen to him and still brewed him the one with chamomile. The first few times Dean continued to show displeasure, Cas just rolled his eyes, but later he pulled himself in and began to absorb the tea much faster and with more excitement. Dean resigned himself to defeat and no longer argued, doing everything Castiel asked him to: from taking his pills to resting between 2 and 3 pm. This time they chatted, exchanged opinions on Lucifer and his plans, but more often they just sat next to each other on the sofa - Cas was reading something of his own, Dean would lay down next to him and closed his eyes. Both of them were calm and comfortable in each other's company and Cas caught himself thinking that he could easily get used to such a schedule. He didn't feel the need to fill the sound void between them, to talk about something, the emptiness itself was never completely empty, there was always something in the air, something was there, enveloping them both as if in a warm blanket.

With Sam Cas never felt so good, there was always some awkwardness and tension between them, Cas constantly wanted to end conversations as soon as possible and get busy. Not that he didn't like Sam, not at all, Sam was quite an interesting human, but with Dean it felt different. Much clearer, more tranquil. With Dean everything was different.  
Dean was different.

They also made game nights a habit. At exactly eight o'clock in the evening they sat down and took up Monopoly, trying to fine each other the largest amount possible. On Wednesday Dean was so tired that his hands would hardly listen to him, and so Cas threw dice for him and performed most of the physical movements when Dean sat next to the angel and carefully watched so that Cas didn't cheat and deliberately gave Dean the wrong amount of money for the hotel. Dean almost lost the game, wasting a record amount of cash on Cas's property and therefore feignedly accused Cas of all mortal sins, revealingly wrinkling his eyebrows and lips. At first, Castiel was really worried that Dean was offended by him for no reason, but then noticing that Dean bursted into laughter watching Cas's frightened face, he simply continued to take the rent from Dean.

The first week in their joint quarantine ended well, developing a stable schedule that worked like a clock. They felt great in each other's presence, only a couple of times making each other blush, which they both just enjoyed to watch.

The second week has become busier, to the detailed research of archangels and responsibilities about other hunters that had been added. Learning that Dean was at home and, as hunters themselves put it, "was sitting in his comfy pants while the real men risked their lives at work," Dean was forced to become an information center and an adviser, while answering calls posing as the head of the FBI, the Forest Service and at least twelve others organizations. Cas took over some of this work to lighten Dean's burden, but it didn't help much, Dean felt disgusting at the end of the day, leaving the Monopoly game each time earlier and earlier. Castiel continued to make sure his food intake was correct, still baking pies for Dean and not taking the risk of ripping apart a working daily routine with new experimental dishes. It was safer to stick to the already developed plan and act strictly with the well known order. Research, advice, FBI, construction service, two mugs of hot tea, half a slice of pie, pills, cough syrup, temperature check - everything was repeated every hour, gaining eight laps a day. Dean was tired and felt trapped in this space, torturing his brain every day, but he never hid on Castiel. On the contrary, he always thanked him for the hot fragrant pie and tea and never forgot to ask if he was really okay with doing some of Dean's work. Cas waved him off and told him that it was his choice, but Dean seemed not to hear him and asked the same questions every day.

However, even this routine had its remarkable moments. So on Monday, during another speaker phone conversation with a very ambitious, but insanely irresponsible hunter Arvin, Dean explained to him how to hide a corpse of a vampire, so that later the police wouldn't spot him, when Cas again left the kitchen with a tray and a mug of chamomile tea. Dean, noticing him, began to speak in a more cheerful tone, continuing to listen to what Arvin was telling him. When Castiel put the mug in front of Dean, gesturing that the tea was hot, Dean, instead of gesturing back, not wanting to interrupt Arvin, said with a smile:  
\- Thank you, darling.

Cas immediately blushed and pressed the tray to his chest, not taking his eyes off Dean. His knees were shaking and his palms became sweaty, so Cas stood rooted to the spot in the middle of the room, unable to say anything in response. Arvin answered for him, laughing, and it seemed that this laughter could've been heard from any spot at the bunker. It was not clear if it was due to Dean having such a loud speaker or Arvin's laughter, but Cas could clearly hear how echo reflected from the walls carried the sound even to the most distant rooms. Catching his breath, the hunter replied:  
\- Of course, you are welcome, Dean.  
\- I wasn't talking to you, - Dean replied sharply, obviously finding Arvin's comment irritable. He said that almost in a growl, which made Cas put down the tray and come a little closer, so that in time to calm Dean down and prevent him from making new enemies, which he had more than enough by the age of thirty-four.

\- Okay, okay, relax, - Arvin answered to Castiel’s relief and exhaled loudly. - Who was that, if not a secret? - The hunter drawled with a note of mockery.

\- You called me to discuss my personal life, or vampires? - Dean answered, wearily running his hand over his face.

\- Come on, why such a big secret? - Arvin was clearly not going to appease. He was in his early twenties, so this behavior could easily be attributed to his inexperience and a sense of loose immortality that young and naive guys like him happily instill in their minds. If they were talking face to face, Arvin could have seen the discontent that reflected on Dean's face. Dean was tired, loaded with a dozen other tasks and responsibilities, but had to waste his precious time on the explicitly annoying youngster, instead of doing his work.

\- Come on, Winchester, why are you keeping silence? - Arvin didn't stop and with an even more annoying voice whispered directly into the microphone, because of what his voice sounded absurdly hiss. Castiel was about to put in a few words and tell the guy to get lost, but Dean, not giving him such an opportunity, answered clearly and expressively:

\- My beloved wife, Arvin, now shut the fuck up.

Cas thought it was no longer possible to blush, but most likely he succeeded. He felt a sharp stream of heat, rushing with a swift speed from his heels to his face, lingering above the cheekbones. If the mirror was there, he would certainly have looked at himself to see the scale of the catastrophe. However, even the feeling was enough to understand that his face was literally burning with embarrassment. Dean called him his beloved wife. Cas didn’t mistake that. Beloved wife. Cas is Dean's beloved wife. Unable to stand on his feet, Castiel sat down on the nearest chair, trying to cover his face with his hands so that Dean wouldn't notice how red his cheeks really were.

Wife. Wife. Beloved wife.

Cas felt that his heart could jump out of his chest at any moment and tell Dean about all the somersaults that it made under Castiel's ribs, how it betrayed his weakness and all the secret thoughts that had been floating in the angel's head over the past ten days of being locked up. What if Dean could have known about it, about the aftermath of the witch's spell, about how Cas felt when looking at him. About the sneering glances and distracting thoughts that Castiel allowed himself, in which he literally drowned. Cas didn't know how Dean could possibly know, at that moment common sense left his head, and paranoia took control and completely consumed Cas in itself.

He leaned against his elbows on the table, still covering his face when he finally heard that Dean continued to discuss burying the vampire, completely oblivious to Castiel, blazing in confusion. He fearfully peered out of the cracks between his fingers to spot Dean sitting directly across from him and looking at Cas with a smug smile. Castiel immediately regretted that he decided to take a look, because, instead of gradually cooling off, he caught the heat again and this time put his head on the table face down to surely avoid any eye contact with Dean. A couple of minutes later Cas raised his head again and, with all his might trying not to give in to the urge to look at Dean, walked to the sofa and buried his nose in the book.

Castiel spent several days recalling this situation in his head. “Wife”, “My beloved wife”, “My beloved wife, Arvin, shut the fuck up.” Something in his heart clearly responded to the word wife, and Cas used every free second to remember it and evoke this feeling one more time.

Arvin didn’t call again, and without his time-consuming calls, Dean could afford to return to an hour-long afternoon of rest. As always, he closed the thick dusty book with a dull sound and walked to the sofa, powerlessly resting his head on the back of it. Closing his eyes reflexively, he began to breathe deeply and squeeze into his warm brown sweater, trying to warm up and relax after a hard half of the day. Cas, already accustomed to this, leafed through the pages of a small book, which he always secretly carried in his trench coat pocket, and now he read it over and over again to relax. Dean never asked questions about it, and so when he broke the silence Castiel got already used to, Cas twitched slightly in surprise.

\- What are you reading? - Dean said it monotonously, but at the same time, too harshly against the background of the usual emptiness, so Castiel, without realizing it, asked:  
\- What?  
\- I said, what are you reading?  
Castiel closed the book, holding his index finger on the page he stopped on so as not to lose it, while he looked at the cover of the book, because its title had completely disappeared from his mind.  
“A short collection of the best poems by E. A. Poe” - Castiel read out, and for a moment wondered how could he possibly forget this obvious title.  
\- You like poetry? - Dean asked, opening his eyes.  
\- Not all of it, only a few authors. I love the way Poe describes things. - Castiel ran his finger along the spine of the book, bending around the entire rectangular shape, feeling the soft cover in contact with the skin. The book didn't smell like new typography, this one was from the sixties, so it smelled more like old paper and ink, which also gave Cas an extra reason to read. This collection was especially dear to him - the first book that Cas read on Earth from cover to cover. Previously, he always depended on the knowledge gained in heaven, it seemed endless and unrealizable, but with each day spent with Dean Cas couldn't help but think about how little he actually knew. He didn't know anything about people, about their feelings, about relationships, about the boundaries of personal space and, until recently, the process of cooking and playing board games. Everything felt completely new and unknown which Castiel wanted to understand, wanted to see the world through Dean's eyes, to know what he was thinking, what kind of air he breathed. Poetry helped Cas feel everything much better. He didn't know before that ordinary words printed on paper can cause so many previously unknown emotions. He couldn't help but think that if he was born a human, he would probably become the owner of a bookstore somewhere on the outskirts of a small town. It would be wonderful.

\- Cas? Ca-a-as? - Dean said, snapping his fingers in front of Castiel's face to get his attention. - There you go. You zoned out again, I've been talking to you for three minutes, and you were just staring at the wall. Stop doing that. - Dean frowned and crossed his arms across the chest.  
\- Oh, I'm sorry, I don't notice when it happens.  
\- Are you alright? Maybe you got infected after all... - Without waiting for an answer, Dean moved closer and put his palm on Castiel's forehead, which caused the other to flinch and shrink fussily into the sofa. Dean's hand was hot and his soft fingers smoothly laid on the surface of Cas's skin, as if they were meant to be there. After holding his hand for just a couple of seconds, he removed it and, without moving back, said:  
\- Everything seems to be fine... How do you feel? Does anything hurt?  
Cas smiled shyly and said:  
\- Wasn't it me who was supposed to take care of you?  
\- No, it wasn't.  
\- Why? - Cas raised one eyebrow and tilted his head to the side, staring at Dean fishily.  
\- Because you're an idiot, Cas.  
\- What?  
\- You're an idiot, - Dean breathed out and brushed a couple of loose blond hair back, - I can see how tired you get after doing the work that I should have done - Cas was about to argue something, but Dean continued, - Don't try to quiet me down, you understand what I mean. And I know that it was you who decided to help me and I appreciate that, but not on this scale, god. You push yourself to the limit every day. You can barely move around in the evenings, I'm not blind, I can see that. And I know that you have constant headaches, you are doing a terrible job at trying to hide it. I'm not even talking about you zoning out. I honestly don't understand what you are trying to achieve by working so hard. Hurt yourself?

\- You don't understand? - Castiel raised his eyebrows in annoyance. - Are you serious? Have you seen yourself? Is it really me who is exhausted from overworking? You are either blind or an idiot!  
\- What the.. - Dean clearly didn’t expect such a reaction, and so he backed away from the obviously pissed off Cas.  
\- Dean, shut up. Shut up and listen. If you forgot - you're sick. You are sick, Dean! People with your illness, your cough and your body temperature must constantly, and I mean constantly, lie in bed on a diet of pills and syrups. All the fucking time! Not only you are ignoring that completely, and spend the whole day buried in these damn books, but you are also resentful of the fact that I help you.

Do you understand what kind of nonsense you are making? You are not a super being or a god or whatever, you are just a very reckless human, but you act like you have fifty more lives left, and this one can be easily thrown away. I'm tired of telling you every time that this is MY choice, not yours, not Sam's, or anyone else you can weave into this, but MY, - Castiel said this so quickly that he had to pause and inhale a new portion of oxygen just to continue with renewed vigor, - But you still ignore it and think whatever you want to, no matter what I'm trying to tell you.

Why do you think that you are not good enough? Who told you that you are somehow worse than others? Who told you that this is only your job - taking care of people? Why can't they return the favor? You work all the time, you constantly save somebody, risking your own life. You are always there when someone needs your help and you always come to the rescue, no matter how awful you feel or how exhausted you are.

You are always there! Always!

\- Cas… - Dean squeezed Castiel lightly by the shoulder when he noticed that the angel began to cry from the overwhelming emotions and literally yell in Dean's face.

\- You are such a fool!

\- I know.

\- You are an exceptional fool!

\- I know.

\- It's rare to be such a fool!

\- I know.

Castiel straightened up and grabbed Dean's face, looking right into his eyes, completely without controlling himself anymore, he shouted:

\- Why can't you see how beautiful you are?!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by JustLee.

This look was capable of anything, Cas was sure of it. Eyes wide open, eyebrows raised in surprise, long brown eyelashes - all of this created an incredibly harmonious look, so skillfully burning through Cas. Castiel felt a burst of flames as he touched Dean's prickly cheeks, as their eyes met, as Cas finally said what he was thinking.  
Something seemed to click in his head, realizing everything that had just happened. He literally burst into tears in front of Dean, yelled at him and accused him of just wanting to take care of Cas in return.

Why did he do it? What's the point of this?

\- Cas? - Dean finally broke the silence. The sound of his whispering seemed surprisingly loud compared to the silence that reigned around them, which made Castiel jerk in surprise and automatically look up. With tears in his eyes, the surroundings blurred into colored outlines, even Dean looked like a fuzzy silhouette sitting opposite.

\- Hey, why are you crying? - Dean continued, and Castiel could no longer restrain himself. He pulled his arms further away from Dean's cheeks, wrapping them around his neck, gripping him as tightly as a drowning man would grab onto a lifebuoy. Burying his head in his neck, he squeezed even tighter and, inhaling the familiar scent, made a plaintive sound.

\- Hey, shh, it's okay, it's alright, don't cry. Come here... - he hugged back. His strong arms wrapped around the angel's waist, pressing him close. Cas was bathed in warmth, a special kind of warmth, just like his home in heaven. Infinite and absolute.

Dean felt like home.

Calmness seemed to immediately start flowing through his veins, giving his brain the command to stop crying, recover, regain control of his mind. Dean paused again, listening to the sobbing fading and leaving until silence occupied the room yet again. Cas's breathing returned to normal and he was finally able to say:  
\- I hate it when you belittle yourself and say that you are not worthy of something. It's not true. It's not like that at all.  
Dean let out a small chuckle, burying himself in Castiel's hair. In response, Cas's body got covered in goosebumps, causing him to flinch and hide his flushed face so that Dean couldn't notice anything.

\- Promise me you won't do that again. It hurts me to see you do this to yourself.  
\- Cas... I...  
\- Please promise me this, - Castiel pulled himself out of the embrace and sat down again, right across from Dean, trying to read the emotions on his face. In response Dean smiled faintly and nodded:  
\- I promise.

The next couple of days were pretty fun for Cas. Dean began to actually spend more time relaxing, taking frequent breaks from work, and no longer complaining about tea at all. He nevertheless could feel sick and took not only antibiotics, but also headache painkillers. But such days were gradually reduced, becoming a mere exception, and not a constant. The Monopoly evening had to be shortened a little so that they both could go to bed earlier. Cas at first missed these countless hours of battles with cards and fake money, but seeing Dean refreshed and full of energy every morning, demolished this slight sadness in less then a second.

Castiel gradually started to prepare new dishes in case Dean could eat something except a pie. Even though Dean hadn't complained about such a varied menu, Cas couldn't help but think about how harmful to his health it was to eat only pies for a week. Therefore, a fridge first began to be replenished with a variety of salads and light snacks, and some time later with something more serious, like the soup version number two.

Things were starting to improve for Sam, too. As Castiel heard from Dean's phone conversations, when his shouting could have been heard from any corner of the bunker. He was certainly glad that these "bastards who wounded Cas" would finally get what they deserved, apparently Sam got out on a clear trail and was already in the home stretch.

Everything began to improve and fall into place, working flawlessly, without any hints of troubles or misfortunes.

On one of these days Cas did not find Dean entering from the room in the morning. The loud sounds of the ticking clock in the kitchen echoed down the hallway, making the expecting of a sleepy man in a rumpled gray robe more and more oppressive. Previously fresh coffee gradually cooled down, and the pie was placed back in the fridge when Cas decided to check on Dean.  
Approaching the door, he heard him actively trying to explain something to someone, chewing half the words because of the haste. Trying to understand what was happening, Cas opened the door and, without going further, watched as Dean, wearily rubbing his forehead, was sitting covered in a blanket, and completely ignored Cas's presence.

\- Arvin, you son of a bitch, what were you thinking? How did they spot you?  
In response, Cas heard agitated mutters coming from the phone. Arvin was apparently trying to explain what was going on.  
\- Push on the gas. If you get caught, your ass will rot in a prison for the rest of your life, - after a couple of seconds, Arvin was already mumbling something louder into the phone, Dean raised his voice again, - No, don't be an idiot, giving yourself up is not an option.  
\- How would you explain to them that you cut out a whole family, huh?  
\- No, you can't prove that they were vampires!  
\- Head into the woods, Bobby's hut is in a couple of miles. If you're lucky enough you can take refuge there today. Come on quickly, I'll meet you there.

With that, Dean hung up and got up abruptly from the bed. A later awakening and a sickness-related weakness affected immediately - he could not stand on his feet for a second, falling back onto the bed.  
\- Fuck, - Dean cursed and slammed his fist hard on the wooden headboard, forcing Cas to finally get out of his stupor.  
\- I'll go, - Castiel said confidently, taking a few steps forward.  
\- No, Cas, this is too dangerous, you can't just go there. Without your powers the cops will just shoot you dead. I will find someone else.  
\- There is no one else, is there? You would have already sent someone if there was anyone within reach, am I getting it right? So Arvin is close enough to us and I'm the only one who can help. - Castiel put a hand on Dean's shoulder, trying to somehow relieve the tension. Dean took a deep breath and tilted his head back to meet the angel's gaze.  
\- Come home in one piece.  
\- I will.

After receiving the coordinates of the hut and detailed explanations of how to get there, Cas grabbed the Impala keys and left the bunker without further delay.  
The arrow on the speedometer was almost off scale: if Arvin fails to lag behind and gets lost in the woods during the chase, he will either be grabbed and sent to jail, or without further ado, will drop dead from a bullet in his skull.

Blood was pulsing in Cas's temples, preventing him from concentrating on driving, causing the Impala to skid at every sharp turn. The woodlands turned into a homogeneous green mishmash, and the road signs became completely invisible. If Dean knew how sloppily Cas was driving his baby, he would have surely started a scandal, but now even she was in the background. Dean wouldn't forgive if something happened to Arvin. It couldn't be allowed.

A few minutes later Castiel pulled over to the side of the road, took out a bag of weapons and the bare minimum medicine and ran into the forest. Strong wind lifted the top layer of snow and hit Cas hard on the cheeks. Breathing indiscriminately, he ran forward. The thickness of the ice mass significantly slowed him down and seemed to hold him in one place, not wanting to let him go further. He could have stopped and walked on, slowed down or got a rest, but he kept running so as not to waste any time, so priceless at the moment.

The snow was getting thicker and thicker, making Cas's legs drown in. The bag constantly slipped off his shoulder, the wind didn't stop. Trying to cover himself from the sharp snowflakes, which were colliding him, he covered his face with his hand, but it didn't help much - the wind still found an opportunity to scratch its cold fingers against his face.

Soon it became almost impossible to run at such pace - his lungs were literally burning, and the pulse was so fast that Cas could feel it in his stomach. The surroundings have also become absolutely indistinctive: wherever you looked you could find fir trees, stretching high up and covering the already dim sun.

He ran at random - there must be a hut somewhere nearby, he just needed to move forward. While trying to straighten the bag that was slipping off his shoulder over and over again, Cas caught his foot on something. Earlier dense snow, seeing the falling angel, treacherously parted before him, exposing the sharp roots of the nearest tree. The first thing he felt when he was on the ground was aching pain in his knee and forehead. Castiel grabbed his leg, trying not to groan in pain as he felt warm liquid trickling from his eyebrow to his eyes. Raising his hand there to wipe it, his gray glove quickly absorbed it, repainting it red. Moving his gaze to the leg, he saw a picture no better: his jeans were torn, and a peeled knee peeped out of the hole.

Lying in the snow, he lost all the time that he saved while running, only now it became impossible to run further, and not only the snow, but also the blood that wouldn't stop pouring from the wounded eyebrow, blurring his gaze. He manged to get up and, lifting up the bag that had already been covered with snow, he moved forward.

There should have been an oak tree in front of the hut - the only one in the forest. If Cas can find it, then half of the problem will be immediately solved. But after his fall, he wasn't sure he was going where he needed to: the wind erased all traces. For a second Cas felt scared: not only he couldn't help Arvin escape from the pursuit, but he simply couldn't find his way back and therefore waslost in the woods. Everyone will suffer from this: Arvin, himself, and Dean.

Dean would have been left all alone, not knowing what had happened. He would have had to take another car from the garage and drive here in his dire state to do what Cas couldn't do in a much more vigorous state. Dean is probably now nervously pacing around the bunker, trying to figure out whether he should take off from his place and rush here or trust Cas and wait for the finale. The very thought of Dean being worried gave Castiel strength - the sooner he is done with it, the sooner he gets back home. The sooner he sees Dean. The clock is ticking.

Deep inhale, deep exhale. Continue moving forward.

Castiel still groaned in pain as the snow touched his leg wound. Following his groan, the sound of a shot cut through the air. Following the shot - a dull scream.

Indiscriminate inhale, ragged exhale. Adrenalin.

Instinctively, Castiel lunged forward completely ignoring the sharp pain.  
"This is not Arvin, this is not him, this is a coincidence" - swarmed in his head, but logic suggested otherwise: who else if not him? He ran farther and farther, his legs treacherously gave way, his lungs absorbed the freezing air, his teeth chattered, and his eyes tried to spot the fair-haired boy in the snow. He was looking in all directions, afraid to miss him, afraid to pass out from pain or frostbite, afraid not to return home.

\- Ah, damn, ah, motherf, - Cas heard a hoarse voice and, turning his head to the right, finally saw the one whom he had come here for. A blond man in a voluminous camouflage jacket was sitting under a tree, desperately covering his elbow with his hand. Blood oozed between his fingers, flowing in thin streams along his sleeve and leaving bright spots on the clear white snow. Noticing Cas, the guy resolutely pulled the pistol out of its holster and pointed it at him, clenching his teeth tightly.

\- Are you Arvin?, - the guy looked at Castiel and nodded, - Dean Winchester sent me to help you. Get up, we need to leave.

Arvin hissed, removing his hand from his elbow, and stood up, grabbing his backpack. They ran forward, Arvin would grab his elbow from time to time, Cas tried to keep up, gradually losing any sensation in his legs. The pain became so acute that the brain simply blocked it, and only pumped more and more adrenaline into the blood. Cas no longer felt his hands either, it seemed that he was running completely on reflex, fearing that at any moment the limbs would simply fail and he would fall again, this time unable to get up. Arvin will not be able to carry him away with a gunshot wound in the arm. If Cas falls, then he will remain there. If Cas falls, he wouldn't return back. If Cas falls, he will never return to Dean. If Cas falls, he will never see him again, will not make him coffee, will not bankrupt him in Monopoly, will not see his smile and will not hear his laugh, will not argue with him over some dumb thing, will not hug him, will not straighten his blanket, will not watch over him while he falls asleep. He has to come back - Dean is waiting for him. Cas promised he would return.

Castiel accelerated, catching up to Arvin, who was already actively gesturing to him, pointing to a dilapidated house completely covered in snow.  
They did it. They damn well did it.

Once inside, Cas closed the door behind them and propped it up with the bedside table. Arvin dropped his backpack on the floor and fell onto the sofa, taking off his jacket. Castiel stepped closer and began to examine the wound. The bullet only hit the arm at an angle, without damaging the bone, but the blood continued to flow, which, combined with physical activity, only exhausted Arvin more.

\- Let me, - Cas said and, catching an incredulous look on himself, smiled, - You are very lucky that the bullet only scratched you, a little more and you would have to live without an arm.

\- Yes, this is luck, - Arvin rolled his eyes and hissed when the cotton wool soaked in alcohol touched his hand, - Damn! Without a warning?!

Cas immediately removed the cotton wool, and realizing that he had done a bit irrational thing, took a step back, - Oh, sorry.

Arvin exhaled deeply, looking at Castiel with subtle disappointment, and leaned back against the couch, holding out his hand slightly forward, - Let's just get it over with.

After treating the wound, Castiel finally sat down on the other side of the couch and worked on his knee and eyebrow. There was no mirror in the hut - Bobby was not known for his fashion sense or hygiene, so a mirror was not a necessity. Cas squeezed lightly on an eyebrow and felt a small, oblong indentation. "There will be a scar," he thought, and once again applied cotton wool soaked in alcohol.

\- Hey, uhm, - Arvin said as he finished bandaging his arm. - Why couldn't Dean come?

Arvin looked tired from running around and the blood loss, but still managed to squeeze out a small smile for the sake of decency. He clearly did not trust Cas, and the angel understood this perfectly, so he decided to answer as honestly and openly as possible, so that the few hours or days that they would have to spend here hiding wouldn't turn into a game of survival and suspicions of each other.

\- Dean is sick. He sent me because nobody else was nearby.

\- Sick, seriously?, - Arvin snorted in displeasure, - He could not come because of a sore throat and a runny nose, that's great. No offense to you, of course, but I have no idea who you are or where you came from, dude. It’s just I didn’t expect that from Dean Winchester.

Castiel immediately looked up from the treatment of his eyebrow and turned towards Arvin.

\- Don’t you dare talk like that about him, - he muttered through his teeth, - You have no idea what he has to go through and how worn out he works every day. I'm here now because of your stupidity, and not there helping him, so don't complain and just shut your mouth.

Not expecting such a harsh response, Arvin opened his eyes wide and only hummed softly in response. According to Dean, Arvin was not a bad person at all, but rather reckless and assertive. Dean often mentioned that Arvin reminds him of his younger self - a feeling of invulnerability, omnipotence and that all problems can be solved if only to try very hard. Life had not yet had an opportunity to beat him up so badly that Arvin would understand what he was doing. But having stepped on the hunter's path, he couldn't escape it. The room sank back into silence, punctuated only by a rare hiss as Castiel dabed another dose of alcohol on his knee.

\- How far did you manage to run after you were shot? What is the likelihood that we will be found? - Cas said, finally putting away the medical supplies.

\- Far enough for the blizzard to cover my tracks. Only one cop followed me, the rest stayed by the side of the road, so if we don't light the fireplace, the probability that we could be caught is practically zero.

\- Well, at least some good news for today, - Cas got up from the sofa and was about to leave, when he heard:

\- I know that I acted stupidly, I should have been more attentive. I'm sorry.

Now he acts even more like Dean. First does something reckless, then regrets it.

\- It's okay. Well, the good thing is that they didn’t catch up to you . Tomorrow, closer to four p.m., we will move back. But now we stay here.

Arvin remained on the couch and fell asleep just a couple of minutes after Cas left him. Castiel occupied a separate narrow room with an uncomfortable iron bed. The bed smelled damp, and the blanket could hardly be called warm. For the first time in two weeks Cas goes to bed without playing Monopoly or Dean's good night wishes. His chest was unpleasantly twisted - being in this dilapidated house with a man whom he had only known for a couple of hours brought him nothing but discomfort.

Cas didn't get a single call from Dean, which couldn't help but worry him. Looking at the ceiling and trying to coax himself not to call him in the middle of the night, he still could not resist and reached for his backpack to get his phone. Nearly breaking all the contents, practically turning out all the compartments and pockets several times Castiel unhappily threw the bag aside - the phone must have got lost when he fell. Even if Dean called, Cas just wouldn't be able to hear it.

\- Damn, - he cursed and lay back, trying to fall asleep.

The night passed quickly. In the morning, in an attempt to get through to Dean, Castiel asked to use Arvin's phone, but he only showed him a smashed-up semblance of a phone, Cas realized that Dean could not be contacted before arriving home. Up to four pm time seemed to pass twice as slow: Arvin and Cas were in different rooms, occasionally meeting in the hall and exchanging small meaningless conversations.

As he was getting ready to leave Cas looked through the gap between the boards of windows in case someone was still nearby, but the even layer of snow and the absolute silence only once again proved that they were completely safe and could walk back.

The return to the Impala went much faster than the road to the hut: there was no wind at all and it was cloudless, which further encouraged Cas to go faster and faster with each step. His knee was still aching, causing him to limp awkwardly to his left side, but the pain subsided quickly when they finally caught the sight of the elegant black Chevy.

It was getting dark by the time Cas drove Arvin to his motel a couple of miles from the hut. It would take another two hours to get home, so Castiel would not arrive home until very late in the evening.

Time flew by surprisingly fast: a mile was dealt with in just a second, and the sun soon disappeared behind the horizon, leaving the duty to illuminate the road to softly lighted yellow lanterns. Cas was never able to contact Dean during this "trip", Arvin promised that as soon as he came to the motel room, he would immediately dial him to tell about what happened. Castiel decided not to waste time and immediately headed home.

A couple of miles before Lebanon the fuel gauge needle dropped significantly, so Cas had to leave his thoughts for later and look around for a gas station. Finally, catching a glimpse of the blue "Chevron" sign out of the corner of his eye, he parked the car and headed inside to pay for gas and grab something to eat.

After opening the door bells rang over Cas's head, informing the local elderly worker about the arrival of another traveler. She immediately came out from behind the counter and greeted him with a smile on her face.  
\- Oh, hello, my dear, out of the way, yes? - Cas just snorted out of fatigue, - Are you going home or somewhere else?  
\- Home, - Cas said. Walking a little forward to the counters with sandwiches packed in plastic wraps.  
\- Home? This is great! You will be one of the first customers to buy something from the book department here! You know it well - there is no better present for Christmas than a special book!

Without waiting for an answer, the old lady confidently grabbed Cas (who was approximately two heads taller than her) by the wrist and led him somewhere. Her grip was surprisingly tight and Castiel, without realizing it, obediently followed her.

\- This is an innovation, I mean a small book department. It was my idea, - she whispered it deliberately loudly and winked at him while continuing to speak and at the same time guide him, - The boss said that the drivers don't need to buy books -" as if they wouldn't be able to look at the road" . But I didn't even mention reading while driving, it's dangerous! But to buy some classic and relax after a trip to a hotel with a good book is the best thing in the world. I had to go through a whole quarrel with the superiors to be allowed to bring this idea to life.

\- Why are you telling me this? - Cas raised an eyebrow in surprise, trying to understand the woman's intentions.

\- Because you are listening, my dear. There are very few people who come here, and they constantly shut me up, so I'm very glad that you don't mind hearing about my work, - she turned to him and smiled happily, finally letting go of his hand, after noticing that Cas was walking on his own next to her.

\- Look, the choice is still small, but in the future, if there is still a demand, we will deliver many more new and different books.

Castiel walked over to a small bookcase filled with volumes. Several books weren't there anymore - somewhere there were three copies, somewhere there was only one, some places were already empty.

\- It looks like someone did buy something,- Cas said, continuing to glance at the shelves.

\- Yeah, a few people found something special for themselves. Are you looking to buy for yourself or for someone else?

Cas thought for a second. Christmas was just around the corner, and the only present for Dean was still a strange mug with bears. Perhaps the idea to buy him a book isn't that bad after all. Once they are done with Lucifer, global problems should leave them for a while and Dean will finally be able to read something that might really interest him. Cas smiled, turning to the old woman.

\- I'm thinking of buying a present for a friend.

\- For a friend, hmm, let me think about it, - she took a step towards the shelf, in order for her to be able to reach the top shelves easier, - Tell me something about your friend.

\- Um, well, he works a lot and ... gets very tired at work, but he always tries to do everything as efficiently and accurately as possible. He is kind, although he sometimes seems distant. He plays Monopoly well and can ... um ... hunt. And also ..

-Wow, whoa, hold your horses, young man. I wanted to know what he looks like. Often a person's appearance can tell a lot about them. Try to recreate his portrait in your head and tell me how you see him.

Recreate a portrait. Imagine Dean.

\- He has deep green eyes with a yellow outline around the pupil, a snub nose, freckles and blonde hair. When he smiles, a dimple often appears on his left cheek, and small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He stopped cutting his hair lately because he works a lot and, therefore, his hair often tickles his eyebrows, which is why he often combs them back...

\- You may stop, - she interrupted him again and smiled, - Are you sure that this gift is for your friend?

Cas, not understanding what was going on, narrowed his eyes and slightly tilted his head to one side:  
\- Yes, I said it was a gift for a friend.

\- Oh, that's not what I mean. You see, I've met a lot of people to whom I've asked the same question. Those who wanted to buy a gift for their family or friends started the description with height or physique, and you started with something much more detailed. You started with the eyes.

\- But I..

\- Do not interrupt me, young man, you should speak more politely with the elders. - She put her index finger to his lips, - The way you described him reminds me of all those brainless tomboys who begin to vividly describe their beloved to me. I saw you smile when you talked about him. My dear, there is nothing wrong with loving another man, it is completely alright. I fully support you.

Cas's heart skipped a beat as the woman said the word "love". Something inside of him seemed to respond to it as if to its own name. He stood rooted to the spot, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.

\- Well, look, you blushed. Of course you are in love, I can see such lovebirds from a mile away, - she once again turned her gaze to the rack, - Don't be afraid of your feelings, it's better to grab onto them and not let go. Love is wonderful, you don't have to run away from it. Here, take it. - She pulled out a book from the bottom shelf. The cover stated “ Poems about a light feeling” - this is a collection of poems, just right for the perfect romantic gift for Christmas.

She handed the book to Cas, who instinctively grabbed it, and headed to the counter.

\- It will be 146 dollars for a book and a full tank, sandwiches on the house .

Castiel mechanically paid for the goods, she waved him goodbye and continued to arrange things on the shelves. After filling the Impala's fuel tank and sitting inside for a while, holding sandwiches and a voluminous collection of poems about the "light feeling" in his hands, he was able to realize what had just happened.

" _Of course you are in love, I can see such lovebirds from a mile away._ "

" _You started with his eyes._ "

Cas pressed his hands into the steering wheel, tossing his belongings into the passenger seat, his heart drumming a fast march, causing blood to rush to his cheeks again.

Trying to leave this evil place as soon as possible, Cas pressed the gas pedal, completely forgetting that he had not eaten for a whole day, and he left a ready to eat free meal by his side.

\- I cannot love him, angels do not feel love, - he muttered under his breath, - She didn't understand anything about who he was and this is just some kind of mistake… Right? Our profound bond with him is not love, it is just care and understanding, the desire to spend time together and excitement, this is not love, it is...

" _There is nothing wrong with loving another man._ "

" _You started with his eyes._ "

\- Oh, damn it, - Cas's cheeks were already burning, bitterness and joy mixed into one feeling and moved through the bloodstream, carrying this sensation everywhere in his body.

The house was less than a mile away.

The front door of the bunker creaked open and Cas began to descend the stairs. The lights in the library were off, only kitchen was illuminated by some kind of light. Holding his travel bag in one hand and his sandwiches in the other, he walked into the kitchen. The desire to eat completely disappeared and he decided to put the sandwiches in the fridge until a more convenient opportunity to eat.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, he immediately dropped his bag and ran into the hall. The entire kitchen floor was strewn with white shards, and there were a few drops of blood in the corner, which led a path towards Dean's room.

\- No, no, no, no, - Cas said convulsively, seeing the amount of drops of blood. They continued to become bigger and bigger as he approached the door of Dean's room.

He literally knocked down the door with his foot and saw the light coming from the bathroom. The silence was cut by the sound of running water and ragged breaths.

\- Dean!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! TRIGGER WARNING !!!  
> Graphic description of domestic violence. 
> 
> Edited by JustLee.

With his angelic blade at ready, Castiel ran into the bathroom. Dean was hunched on the floor, his torso bare. He was leaning onto his hands, trying to maintain balance, bending closer to the ground with each new breath. Just now, Cas noticed how much weight Dean had lost during his illness: his bones literally protruded from under the skin, his ribs and spine were well discerned. Water ran into the sink, disorderly blocking Dean's ragged breaths. Trying to either somehow cover his thinness with Cas' own body, or help Dean up, Castiel grabbed him by the shoulder and led him into the bedroom.

Dean probably only pretended to walk: his legs moved erratically, all his body weight was clearly directed at Cas, who had to make more effort then usual because of his injured knee. Placing Dean carefully on the bed, Cas rushed back to the bathroom to turn off the water. At the bottom of the sink, covering the drain, was Dean's T-shirt with tiny red spots all over the fabric. Cas quickly turned off the tap and immediately went back.

The man was shaking. He desperately clutched his hands on the blanket, trying to calm the trembling, but the tension only made it worse. His skin was unusually pale, even to some extent gray, which made the purple circles under his eyes contrast so strongly with the rest of his face. It looked more like a grease paint than a living person's skin.

Cas had been gone for two days. Just two days brought Dean to this state.

He looked awful.

\- I should have gotten back faster.. I'm so sorry, - Castel mumbled, and weekly knelt down next to the bed, not knowing what to do at first. Where did the blood come from? Why is he feeling so bad? Why did he lose so much weight? Why was he choking in the bathroom?  
Everything mixed for a second: fatigue, fright, pain, confusion, fluster. It all transformed into some kind of a homogeneous cocktail and immobilized him. He, like a puppet without the strings , lost the ability to think clearly and sat next to Dean's bed continuing to throw nervous glances at him.  
He was hoping it would end soon: pass by, like an unwanted storm, or somehow fix itself. He felt so scared that all of that seemed endless for a second: seeing Dean clutching the blanket in front of him and moan out of ailment.

Cas' view began to darken, breathing - to fail.

\- I'm useless, Dean. I'm so sorry, I don't know what to do. I should have come back earlier. I should have been here yesterday. I shouldn't have left you at all...  
You were already getting better, you were feeling better. I messed it up again, I messed it all up..

Something hot touched his shoulder. Looking up, Cas met Dean's gaze, who was staring at him, puzzled, trying to hold back the escaping sound of the clicking of his teeth.

\- Can you ... Fix this.. Please? - Dean couldn't speak distinctly.  
\- Fix what? - Cas examined Dean once again, trying to understand what he was talking about.  
\- This.

Turning his hand wrist up, Cas noticed a diagonal cut over Dean's veins. Blood oozed lazily from there, smearing all over his arm and imprinted on the gray covers.

Something seemed to immediately click in Cas's head and made the gears work as they should. Dean was hurt, so he needed to help him. It was simple. No other options.

He finally knew what to do.

After a couple of minutes, Castiel returned with peroxide and bandages in his hands taking way too many than he should've, so some bandages were falling out of his hands along the way to the room. He also stuffed his pockets with antipyretic pills, taking as much as he physically could hold.

Panic surely wasn't helping him much, but at least he was finally doing the job right.

There was no point in consistent help if Dean needed it immediately. Here and now. Cas decided to do everything at the same time and deal with all the symptoms much faster.

After giving Dean a pill, gently holding his head so that he wouldn't choke on water, Cas began to moisten the cotton wool in peroxide. Taking Dean's hand, he gently applied the wet material to the cut, trying to do it with minimal pressure so as not to cause him any unnecessary pain.

Dean hissed as the peroxide began to clot and pinch, causing Cas to instinctively blow on the wound, cooling it down a bit. Dean exhaled loudly and simply bit his lip, trying to lie down in one place and not turn everything upside down with his uncontrollable shaking body.

It didn't take long for Cas to bandage Dean's wrist, along with carefully fixating it, and afterwards stand up, trying to stretch his stiff legs.

\- I'm so cold, - Dean suddenly muttered through his teeth, desperately pressing himself into the blanket.

\- Be patient, it all will be over soon. - Castiel pulled Dean's blanket up to his neck. Dean was obviously uncomfortable, especially judging by his hair that just kept getting into his eyes, so Castiel gently brushed it off his face with his hand, spreading it across the pillow. As soon as his hand touched Dean's forehead, the man leaned in it, closing his eyes.

\- Stay here with me, - he whispered, placing his own hand against Cas's. - Please don't leave me alone.

\- Dean, there are shards scattered all over the kitchen. Someone has to clean them up. - Castiel grudgingly tried to pull out his hand when Dean abruptly snapped his eyes open.

\- I haven't cleaned it up? I was just going to go there and... Oh no, I have to clean everything up. I can't leave all this mess to you.., - He made an attempt to get up, but Cas gently pressed onto his shoulders, preventing him from finishing the move.

\- You’re not going anywhere, Dean. Tight sleep and rest - that's what you need right now, leave the shards for me, I'll take care of them later.

Dean took a deep breath and reluctantly laid back down.  
Even being a literal earthquake that cannot physically walk, he still volunteered to clean up after himself. He will probably never cease to amaze Cas, because his every action remains a huge mystery, which Castiel is trying to solve.

The same was happening at that moment too. Suddenly Dean's gaze darted from side to side, and he squeezed himself even further into the sheet, showing with all his appearance that he was hesitating to ponder something. Then his gaze stopped and he, biting his lip, took Cas's hand again and awkwardly pulled him down to him:

\- Could you lie down next to me? The cold doesn't want to go away. It feels so bad..

The angel's cheeks instantly flashed crimson blush, and an electric charge seemed to pass from Dean's hand though Cas' whole body.  
Dean didn’t look weak or pathetic.  
He looked vulnerable.  
He never asks for anything, and even more so asks for any help, but at that moment all his internal attitudes for some reason collapsed and he, pulling Cas by the sleeve of his sweater, looked like somebody who simply would be impossible to refuse.

Castiel turned the edge of the blanket, awkwardly lying next to the man as neatly as he possibly could.  
The bed felt hot. Dean apparently handed out all the warmth of his body to heat the surrounding and not himself, which is why it felt like tropics under the covers.

Cas covered the two of them with the blanket, which was obviously sized for no more than one person, so he got the smaller part, preferring to give the biggest one to Dean. As soon as Cas stopped moving and steadily laid down on the bed, Dean immediately snuggled close to him, wrapping his arms under Castiel's armpits, burying his slightly pink face into his sweater.

\- Could you hug me?

Castiel twitched slightly as Dean's warm breath began to get through the fabric of his sweater. Cas gave in and pulled Dean close to him, placing his hand on his bare back.

The man immediately relaxed, feeling safe.

They were silent. There was no need to say anything. Dean held back the shaking attacks as best he could, and Cas closed his eyes, trying to take in everything that was happening.  
It was very easy for him - suddenly all of it felt so right, lying like that beside Dean, helping him, just being there for him. It reassured Cas, warmed him from the inside, filled him with joy. After everything he had gone through in the last 24 hours, Castiel felt like he deserved it. This was the best reward he could have ever dreamed of.

\- You are late, - Dean mumbled, finally pulling his face out of Cas' sweater.

\- Yeah, um, nothing went according to the plan and we had to spend the night there in order to safely come back later. I'm sorry..

\- You've been gone for over a day, Cas, - surprisingly firmly said Dean, not letting the angel finish, -You didn't pick up your phone, neither did Arvin. I thought something happened, that you got hurt, or... or worse. Why did you ignore me? Why didn't you answer?

Dean sniffed as a tear rolled down his cheek. Dean Winchester. THE Dean Winchester cried right in front of Cas without feeling the need to conceal. He wasn't afraid to be condemned, he didn't hide anything or didn't try to cover it up. It was him. Dean who cared. Who wasn't afraid to care.

\- There was a storm and snow everywhere, - Cas began softly, - While I was getting to Arvin through the snowdrifts, I fell and must have lost my phone. Arvin's phone ended up broken. I just couldn't reach you. I'm really sorry that I made you worry, I should have been more careful.

For some reason, this conversation felt much more comfortable than usual. Nobody seemed to be lying about anything or hushing up, everything that Cas thought he immediately transferred into words, without filtering anything. And Dean clearly didn't have the strength to filter.  
There was no discomfort, there was only sincerity, which they had been missing for so long.

\- Are you hurt?, - Dean finally lifted his head and locked eyes with Cas. Dean's eyes were filled with tears, although he didn't look sad, rather worried.

\- Oh, no, no. It's okay, - Cas replied in a hurry, looking away.

Dean removed his hand from Castiel's waist and, without taking his eyes off of him, gently ran his hand over Castiel's brow without touching the fresh wound.  
\- There will be a scar, - he said quietly, examining his face. - I shouldn't have let you go there alone. Last time you went after witches and lost your powers. This time I sent you on a mission being mortal. You could've got shot there. And you came back with a scar. Why am I putting you in danger all the time, Cas? _Especially if you're the last person I want to see wounded_...

At these words, the angel's ribcage contracted, releasing a new portion of endorphin into the blood. For the first time in this entire conversation he didn't know what to say. He could again try to explain what had happened was not his fault and that Cas had gone there knowing all the risks, but Dean usually didn’t listen to such things, let alone when he was literally shaking from fever. Therefore, Cas chose to remain silent and simply hug Dean a little tighter, trying to express everything that he couldn't say, through this simple gesture.

\- What happened in the kitchen, Dean?, - A change of subject seemed the best decision at the time.

The man buried himself in Cas' sweater again and, taking a deep breath, began to speak:

\- You've been absent for a long time. I didn't know if I should run after you or wait here for you to come back. Later at night I could not sleep because of this and in the morning I felt very bad. Over time, it only got worse and worse and I thought it was because I didn’t eat at all yesterday, waiting for you to come and we... um.., - he stammered either from tears that did not want to leave him alone or from the fact that he could not find the right words, - And we would have dinner together as always. But you were still gone and I decided to get the food myself, continuing to call you. My stomach clearly didn't like the smell of all the food in the fridge. Due to the fever, probably, and due to um .. stress, I could not hold the plate and it shattered and scratched my hand.

He paused, sniffling and letting himself catch his breath.

\- I did not want to litter and did not want to make everything dirty. I know how hard you worked to keep this place tidy. You spent hours cleaning up here: polishing the floors, dusting the shelves, cooking dinner, making this place look like a decent house instead of a bunker. And I ruined everything in just a couple of seconds. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Castiel let out a small chuckle as he rested his chin on top of Dean's head and quietly replied:

\- It seems like we always get into trouble when we're on our own.

Dean paused, wiping the tears from his cheek and moving his head to Cas's chest so that he now used it as a pillow.

\- You make me so namby-pamby, Cas. You actually could make me say things I was afraid to say for a long time.

Castiel pulled back a bit to take a look at Dean's face, but the man hid it anyway, as if embarrassed to look tear-stained. Cas no longer knew which direction this conversation was heading. His mind threw him a bunch of theories, each of which was as absurd as possible. Suddenly he remembered the lady at the gas station. It made him take a deep breath.

\- What things? - Cas asked nervously.

\- Your heart rate is quickening, - Dean remarked, - Are you worried about something?

\- Um, no, it's okay, - Cas tried to assure him, - What things are you talking about?

\- Hmm. Maybe about the fact that I like the way my sweater looks on you, - Dean paused, considering what to say next, - No, you look so good in it. I never liked the way it suits me: it looks so strange. But on you it seems to look completely opposite. It makes me think whatever clothes I give you, it'll always look great, - he paused for a second and then added:

Maybe it's because you're adorable...

You're adorable Cas, you know that?

\- I shouldn't have asked, you're starting to talk nonsense, Dean. It's time for you to go to bed, - said Castiel, trying to remove himself from the man's hands, but he only squeezed him tighter, not letting go.

\- Let me finish.

Cas swallowed and looked down at Dean, whose eyes were closed, as he continued to whisper.

\- And this is not just about Jimmy Novak's body. No, that's not the point. You don't look like him at all.

\- Jimmy is my vessel. I can't be different from him. Dean you need to sleep.

\- No, no. I met Jimmy, - he raised his eyes, trying to convince the angel, - At the very beginning, do you remember? About a month after we met. You were so rude then, huh... Now you are such a softie, - Dean cleared his throat and continued without delay:

\- So, I didn't like the way Jimmy looked, he looked ridiculous. Just like my sweater on me, exactly like this. But when you were in his body, it's just... I don't know. I can't see a particle of Jimmy in you. You are now the owner of this body, so it even began to look like you.

\- You've never seen my real form, Dean.

-No, I saw you! Do you remember? In hell. I lied when I said that I don't remember what happened. I always knew that someone very... glorious pulled me out of there, - he paused squeezing Cas' sweater between his fingers, - And it was you. I know how you look, which is why I say that you, the real you, are very beautiful. You...

\- Dean ... Stop it, - Castiel already regretted asking him that question in the first place. Dean was clearly not making any sense. He wiped all the memories about him in hell from his mind in order not to traumatize Dean, there was no way he could possibly remember anything. And even though Dean stopped shaking that didn't mean he was fully conscious and understood what he was trying to say. He will most likely forget about this conversation the next morning or be extremely embarrassed by it, and Cas knew that he shouldn't take any of those words seriously.

But for some reason every phrase the hunter let out made Cas hold his breath. Maybe if Dean had said that under different circumstances, over the morning coffee or during the game night, Cas would have believed him. But not then. Definitely not then.

Dean dragged him to his bed.

Dean, who doesn't like physical contact for more than three seconds, dragged him into bed.

It didn't make any sense.

Neither what he was doing, nor what he said.

\- Can I ask you something? - Dean quietly whispered as if afraid to interrupt Cas' train of thoughts.

\- You need to get some rest, Dean, - angel ignored him, taking off his hands from man's body, - You are going to regret it in the morning.

\- Oh please, Cas, just one question, - he paused for a bit, - Just answer my question and I'll go to bed right away.

Castiel squinted his eyes and after taking a deep breath, replied: - Only one question.

\- Remember that movie night we had about two weeks ago? The one when we watched "The Brokeback mountain"?

Cas shivered as memories from that night started filling his mind. Dean's head on his shoulder, his barely audible breath, messy hair locks on his face. The peace and comfort which surrounded them. The warm cups of tea. Falling asleep next to each other. His lips touching Dean's forehead. It's one of his dearest memories. He couldn't forget it. Not ever.

\- Yes, I do.

\- Remember when I started to fall asleep close to the end? You hugged me exactly like this, right?

Cas didn't say anything, only swallowed nervously.

\- I might have been wrong...

" Oh no. " - Castiel muttered in his head.

\- But I could have swore I felt something strange when we were sitting there...

" Please don't say it. "

\- It wasn't something I could have mistaken...

" Please don't do this. "

\- I was sure that you...

" Please. "

\- You...

" Please stop. "

\- Um...

" No! "

\- You kissed me that night?

Dean raised his own body a little bit with the help of his elbows, trying to catch Cas' eyes. Angel looked utterly terrified.  
Dean saw Cas' pupils running from side to side, his breath quietening, his whole body freezing, skin going pale, making him seem almost dead.

\- I... uh.., - Castiel tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn't work. His mind went blank.

Dean saw it. Dean felt it all.

The touch of Cas' fingertip over Dean's lower lip. The warm breath on his cheek. The tight hug. Covering them both in a blanket. Staying on the narrow couch together. Cas digging his hand into man's hair, kissing him on his head.

Dean knew it all along.

Dean trusted him so much, but Cas simply used him. He used him merely to satisfy whatever that warm feeling was in his chest. He caused Dean discomfort, confused him.

He scared him.

Was Castiel some kind of freak? Some kind of pervert?  
Who does THAT to their friends? Who lets themselves hurt their close ones?

Castiel was disgusting.

How couldn't he have seen it before?

He was an abomination.

He didn't deserve being here. He didn't deserve getting so close to Dean. He didn't deserve saying his name.

He didn't deserve to even know him.

\- Cas? Are you okay? Did I say something wrong? - Dean placed his hand on Cas' shoulder, shaking him lightly. Castiel flinched at the touch, eyes round, quickly getting Dean's hand off of him.

\- I'm sorry, I... I have to go, -Cas burbled abruptly, getting out of bed, trying to stand up right.

" _Abomination_ "

\- Cas?

" _You can't say his name_."

\- What happened?

" _You don't deserve it_."

\- Why are you leaving?

" _Disgusting_."

\- Cas!

Castiel walked out of the room, his hands shaking. Dean shouted his name, but he never turned back. He couldn't look at him. He didn't deserve to even see him.

Castiel ruined it. Ruined it all by himself.

***

Cleaning up the shards seemed to help a bit. At least some use came out of Cas being here. He wanted them to cut him, to scratch his arm, in effort to feel anything but that emptiness in the back of his ribs.

Dean got quiet right after Cas closed the door. He only hoped that he went to sleep and wasn't lying there, staring at the ceiling as he always does when he is overthinking something.

Castiel knows it cause he watched him.

Watched without Dean knowing.

" _Freak_ "

He threw the shards into the trash bin and headed to the library, making as little noise as possible with his boots.

Sitting in the chair he covered his eyes with his shaky hands, trying to take at least one full deep breath. Then he snapped. His whole body began to shiver, he dipped his nails into his skull, trying to stop it, but it only continued to get worse.

" _You ruined it all_."

He unwillingly reached out to his jeans pocket, taking out his phone. He didn't think twice, he acted without knowing what else to do.

\- Hello? - said a man's drowsy voice from the speaker, - Uhh... Cas, you know what time it is?

\- Sam, I..., - angel cried, catching his breath, - I, ruined it all, I messed it all up, I...

\- Wow, wow, take it easy. Did something happen to you?, - he paused for a moment, - Is Dean okay?

Castiel propped up his forehead on his hand, trying to calm down. It didn't work.

\- He is fine. He... He is still sick but... He is sleeping.

\- Why are you crying?, - Sam asked, making little noise as he apparently got out of bed.

The Angel couldn't collect his thoughts. He was panting. His heart was beating painfully.

\- Cas?

\- He knows that I kissed him, - he blurted off.

\- He... WHAT?

\- We... We had a movie night a couple of weeks ago. And... um... He fell asleep, - Cas paused taking a deep breath, - He looked so wonderful back then, I couldn't resist. I kissed him on the forehead...I didn't want to scare him or confuse or anything. But I did. I know I did.

Sam surprisingly didn't take any time to process it all, only asked:

\- What did Dean say to you?

\- He only asked for confirmation, but I couldn't admit it. I couldn't admit I acted so awfully. I ran out of the room without an answer.

\- Cas. Why did you kiss him?

Sam sounded calm. Too calm as Cas thought.

\- I..., - he sobbed, - I don't know...

\- Cas.

\- I might have feelings for him, - he whispered as if afraid to be heard by Dean somehow. Heart ached painfully.

\- What feelings? Do you love him?

Castiel went silent.

\- Cas? Can you hear me? Do you love him?

He remembered stars being born, their enormous power gifting life to frozen clumps. He saw the time and space in harmony, endless beauty and glory in their every move and change. He saw the first flowers bloom and the first trees bear fruit. New lands appearing, others sinking. He saw northern lights and massive hurricanes showing themselves to him, demonstrating.

He was there, always there, witnessing the creation, watching it.

It was the never-ending energy.

He was Heaven's bravest soldier: no doubt, only loyalty and purpose. Leading armies, fighting the bad and the ugly. Always winning. Light against darkness.

And then, it suddenly happened. Dragging the soul out of hell. The most wounded and broken soul he's ever seen, yet so bright and so pure.

So beautiful.

So blinding.

Dean became a miracle with feet: walking, talking, smiling, eating, crying. He did all those things other people did, but he always did them in his own way, different, never the same.

He fought, he never gave up, he rushed right into the danger pit without thinking twice. Daring, all-mighty, strong.

Cas wasn't made broken, he chose to become one.

To break himself for the right intent. For the righteous man.

He didn't regret doing this even once.

Dean consists of poetry a paper can never handle.

Cas drowned.

_Loved._

\- _I love Dean_ , - he said, admitting it. It took too much time to finally become clear with himself. It felt freeing.

-Gosh, - Sam breathed out from the other side, - I knew it.

\- What?

\- It was so obvious, Cas. The way you look at him and talk about him. C'mon, I was there this whole time, I saw everything.

\- Oh, - he paused, - I see.

\- Does he know?, - Sam asked.

\- No, I don't think so.

\- Right... Will you tell him?

\- I don't know.

\- It's better if you don't, probably, - Sam sighed, - He appreciates that friendship between you two and he cares about you, he really does. I just don't think he means it this way, you know? - Castiel was sitting quietly, carefully listening to every word, - He dated a few guys when he was younger, I'll admit that, but then he suddenly stopped and got completely against it. I mean completely.  
No dates, no little romances, nothing. Maybe something happened, I don't know. But he never did this again and every time I asked him anything about it he got mad at me and we wouldn't talk for weeks.  
Uhh, Cas, I'm just... I'm so sorry, alright? Try to get past this. Dean is kind and open, but he's very bad at relationship stuff, he's never been in any serious ones except with Lisa and you know how it ended.

" _You wiping her memories clean_."

\- It's okay, Sam, it is.. I'm gonna be fine, I just need some time, - Cas tried to sound as calm as possible, hot tears still burning his cheeks, - You don't have to worry about it. Sorry for waking you up.

\- If you'll need to talk about it again, call me, okay? I don't mind it, - he went silent for a second, - Good night.

\- Yes. Good night.

" _I don't think he means it this way_ "

***

Dean hated this dream. This regular replay of one of his worst memories over and over again like a broken vinyl record. He had this nightmare every once in a while and slightly got used to it, but still, even after so many years it felt like it had happened the day before.

It was February 1996. Dean turned 17 just a couple of days ago. Dad and a couple of other hunters were chasing a pack of werewolves in Arizona, leaving Sam at Bobby's and Dean in some crappy motel a couple of miles away to do research. The hunt was successful, no one got hurt much and John promised to be back in two days. Dean remembered being excited: he got two full days without anyone controlling him, without any work or responsibility. He was free to have fun all this time and there was nothing he wanted more than that.

Across the motel there was a roadside bar where people with broken fates dissolved their sorrow in bitter alcohol, causing fights and scandals. It wasn't the best place for Dean to hang out as a teenager, but there was not much choice so he went there just to order a burger and a plate of fries.

After eating only tasteless instant noodles for a week straight the meal from a bar seemed like a masterpiece to Dean. He enjoyed his food and didn't pay any specific attention to any people around.

Until he spotted him.

Curly haired guy with deep brown eyes noticeably glanced at Dean across the counter, shyly smiling every time they locked eyes. In the red lighting of the bar he seemed especially good looking, holding a glass of beer in his hands. It continued for a couple minutes until he got up from his seat and sat right beside Dean, starting to flirt with him.

It was so long ago that Dean's brain already wiped this whole conversation clean, leaving only a couple of details: his name was Oscar, he lived nearby and he kept making compliments about Dean's eyes.

He made Dean's heart tremble and his cheeks turning pink. Dean was mesmerized.

They quickly left the bar and headed to Dean's motel room to go through his cassette tape collection. He doesn't remember if Oscar was truly interested in them or if he just wanted to get to Dean's place under any circumstances.

As soon as their feet crossed the threshold of the room, Oscar didn't hesitate and placed his arm on Dean's chest, pinning him against the wall, kissing hungrily.

Oscar's parfume filled Dean's nostrils making his mind go blank. He wanted only one thing: Oscar, whole, there and then. They moved to bed, Oscar unbuttoning his shirt, keeping an eye on Dean as he mirrored his moves.

It all seemed to be a pleasant dream. So colorful, so realistic.

Until he heard someone's hard boots making their way through the hallway.  
Then - a creaky twist in the keyhole.  
His dad appeared on the threshold.

\- The fuck you doing here?!, - he shouted, throwing his duffle bag into the wall, - Who is that?!

\- Oh, sir, I'm sorry we didn't mean to… - Oscar tried to apologize but was cut off as John got right in front of him, examined him from head to toe, and, throwing a furious glance towards Dean, fiercely hit the guy between his eyes.

Oscar fell down on the floor, covering his nose with his hand, blood seeping between his fingers.

\- Dad, stop! Don't hurt him! - Dean rushed to stand in front of Oscar, facing John, - He didn't do anything wrong, let him go!

Dean reached out his hand to the guy, helping him to get up. As soon as Oscar got on his feet, he grabbed his shirt in one hand and ran out of the door, throwing one last sorry gaze at Dean.

\- So you are one of them, - his father locked the door being him and rubbed his hands, standing with his back to Dean, - You are a damn faggot, that's what you are trying to say.

\- Dad, I..., - Dean tried to defence himself, but words treacherously refused to leave his mouth, making him go silent. Embarrassment and terror filled his body, making him freeze in place, his hands covering his bare chest.

\- You enjoyed it, huh. You fuckung enjoyed it. You little piece of shit!, - John instantly turned around and clasped his hands around Dean's neck, making him choke in shock.

John's breath smelled like whiskey. He was drunk.

\- I'm going to teach you a lesson, son. I'll make sure you remember it for the rest of your life.

He threw Dean against the wall the same way he threw his bag just a couple of minutes ago. Dean let out a ragged breath as his back hit the wall, making all the air in his lungs collapse. It hurted like hell.

\- You thought you could do whatever you want while I was gone, right? Bring home male hookers, have some fun, - John walked to Dean, looking down at him, - You thought daddy wouldn't even notice or find out, - he grabbed Dean's hair, raising his head, - Very naive of you, bastard.

John squeezes the blond hair between his fingers, looking at Dean, eyes full of disgust. He pulled them hard, making Dean screech, trying to take man's hands away with his own.

\- I know it hurts, I'm only getting started, - saying this, John dragged him to the wall, and started repeatedly slamming Dean's head against the surface.

It ached at the beginning, his skin meeting a hard area, feeling his nose break. Dean lost count how many times he was hit against the wall. How many times a new wound was opened, releasing a new portion of thick red blood. It covered his eyes, stuck in his lashes and hair.

He didn't feel anything anymore. Nothing mattered.

It would have been better if dad killed him that day.

As if hearing his son's thoughts John stopped and kicked him on the floor, pulling a gun out of his belt.

Dean didn't do anything to prevent it. Didn't try to stop all the hits and punches, even then, lying on the floor he just wanted it to end. Doesn't matter which way, he just wanted it to stop.

So he laid still, curling into a ball, waiting for whatever to happen.

John stepped on him with one leg, turning him a bit, so that Dean could see him.

\- I could just shoot you right now. It wouldn't change anything, - he said, pointing a gun at Dean, - Your life doesn't cost a cent, boy, no one would grief if you were gone. You are only a burden, complete uselessness.

\- Then do it, - Dean muttered hatefully, spitting blood out of his mouth, - Kill me.

John let out a small mocking chuckle, leaning down to him, removing the gun.

\- No. It won't end that easily for you, don't even dream about it. I teached you a lesson, son, you should be grateful. Now every time you are going to want to stick a tongue in some guy's mouth you better remember me and this wall, - he pointed on the surface with Dean's blood on it, - Your damn life could've ended right there if I decided so.

John turned around, grabbing his bag:

\- Clean everything up, we are leaving in the morning.

He slammed the door behind him, leaving his son in a bloody puddle on the floor.

Dean tried to shift his weight on his hands to get up, pushing his knees under his stomach, up until he realized he simply couldn't even get his head up. Blood flooded his nostrils, his throat and eyesight.

He layed back, hoping he would die there.

_He wanted to die._

_He wished he died that night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment below and let me know if you liked it!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by JustLee.

Dean looked up as a familiar noise reached his room. Judging by the repetitive knocks on the ceramic surface, and a coffee machine hiss, somebody was working at the kitchen washing the dishes and making a cup of morning coffee. It took a while for Dean to finally yawn and crawl out of the covers when the realization hit him.

Someone was working in the kitchen.

Someone.

Cas.

Cas is home.

He rushed out of the room, completely ignoring the keen headache that seemed to catch up on him as fast as he got up.  
He missed Cas all these days and this teeny tiny pain in his head was the last thing that could stop him from beating the crap out of the angel for ignoring his phone calls that long.

But as soon as he walked in and the silhouette of the dark haired man caught his eye, he remembered why he's always acting so weird around this divine creature.

"The guy is literally a Greek sculpture" - Dean kept reminding himself. Even wearing that baggy formless sweater and light pink pajama pants he still looked like he belonged at the museum. But instead he was there, in a bunker, wiping the plate clean and not even noticing the staring man behind him.

The soldier of God, bravest angel in the garrison couldn't stop sneezing as he got the plate even a bit close to his face. His allergies to dish soap were something that Dean found very cute, comical and sad at the same time and he couldn't decide which point was the most accurate.

If just a minute ago Dean wanted to yell at Cas and tell him he was a complete dumbass for making Dean worry for him all that time, now all he wanted to do was nothing more than to make the angel feel better.

So without any delay he walked up to Cas, and, resting a head on his shoulder, grabbed a sponge with Cas' hand on it.

\- Stop torturing yourself, dumbo, let me take care of this - Dean whispered in a hoarse voice feeling Cas whole body shrank in surprise.

\- Dean? - he turned so that facing the man. His messy hair covered a good quarter of his face, - I didn't hear you getting up.

\- Yeah, well, I didn't hear you coming back so we're even.

Castiel got out of Dean's personal space as he managed a tired smile.

\- I'm glad you forgot it.

\- Forgot what? - Dean asked, crossing his arms on his chest, - Did anything happen?

\- Nothing you should be worried about, - Cas said, walking up to the coffee machine, - You had a fever so that's probably why you are having a hard time remembering things. We just talked for a bit and I helped you get to bed. That's all.

Cas may be a very old and powerful celestial being but he certainly is a terrible liar. Dean surely said something very embarrassing and Cas tried his best to act like it was nothing in order not to make Dean feel even more ashamed of himself.

"What if I told him about the Greek sculpture thing?" - Dean's inner voice clearly wasn't helping him. What if Dean started a whole tirade about the beauty of Cas' eyes or mocked him for having these adorable tiny curls next to his ears? What if Dean annoyed Cas with a full Bon Jovi analysis (again) by describing every member of the group and somehow knowing everyone's zodiac sign? Was it his and Sam's drama? Favorite pie flavor? Retelling of Scooby Doo episodes? Or maybe Dean asked Cas to wear his ugly sweater more often?

Out of all these things he hoped he didn't do the latter one.

So Dean tried not to tempt fate by asking Castiel about last night and decided to suppress this inner voice the most effective way he knew. By putting something edible in his mouth.

He got to the fridge lazily rubbing the back of his head and opened its door. Various dishes on plates, pans and pots appeared in front of his eyes showing how much Cas was actually bored spending all this time under lockdown with Dean.

A few more dishes and he simply could start a career by opening his own restaurant. "Castiel's diner", "At devine's", "Heaven's door" - anything would fit perfectly. And Cas would fit the bill too - always so focused but at the same time creative enough to try something unusual and revolutionary. He is literally a rebel. If anyone could turn a whole cooking industry into something brand new and better than before that would be Cas.

Even the apron suited him pretty well. A perfect combo for a perfect chef.

\- Dean, uhm, are you okay? - asked Cas clearly confused, looking at Dean like he would at the eighth wonder of the world.

\- Ya, why wouldn't I?

\- Maybe because of this, - Castiel pointed at Dean's hand.

Looking down Dean noticed a sandwich stuffed with salami and cheese abruptly bitten in a half. It took him a few seconds to process the taste in his mouth and realize what surprised Cas so much.

That's the first thing except the pie he ate for weeks.

And it felt damn good.

The whole flavor spectrum suddenly  
opened up to him, sending so many pleasant signals to his brain that it made him close his eyes, losing himself in the taste. It felt as if he was newly reborn, discovered a new land or listened to Led Zeppelin for the first time. The sandwich was cold and he didn't even like salami as much as he liked bacon, but at that moment it felt as if that absolute masterpiece was created by God himself.

\- Oh, God, it's so delicious! - Dean said, quickly grabbing additional four sandwiches out of the fridge, - I missed you guys so much!

He looked up at Cas all smiley, stuffing a whole sandwich into his mouth. Castiel, as if reading his mind, grabbed a freshly made cup of coffee and put it on the table, verbally inviting Dean to sit.

Dean walked up to the table and rested his hips on the surface, taking the cup into the other hand, when Cas quickly changed his face expression from those adorable puppy eyes to the Disappointment Look™.

\- Wha? - Dean tried to ask with his mouth full of bread.  
\- I told you about it, - Castiel furrowed his eyebrows, - Don't sit on the table.  
\- Oh, c'mon Cas. Who are you? My mom?  
\- Dean, - the angel said even more firmly, - Get down.  
\- No.  
\- Dean. Down.  
\- Oh you are not scaring me, Cas. Not in those pajama pants, - Dean smiled mockingly gesturing at Cas' legs.  
\- My pants have nothing to do with you dirtying the table. I told you about it before. It's not hygienic to sit where you eat.  
\- Right, yeah, you are right. - Dean said, slowly nodding his head if trying to understand something. -Well. If you want me to get down and sit on the chair, why don't you just make me?

Normally Castiel would roll his eyes at phrases like that, make another annoyed comment or just stare at Dean until he is uncomfortable, but this time he acted differently. He looked down at his feet, his hair completely covering his eyes, mumbled something under his breath and quietly replied.

\- Sorry, I shouldn't command anything. You know what you are doing, I'm just being irrational.

Not expecting this answer, Dean gulped too much hot coffee and quickly said:  
\- Cas, buddy, I was just joking around. Don't apologize, it's okay. I'm getting down, see? - he gently moved onto the chair, but Castiel, as if not noticing it, remained in the middle of the room, his glance glued to the floor.

\- Have a nice meal, - Cas suddenly mumbled and left the room in the heist, not leaving any time for Dean to respond.

Dean thought he saw Cas limp on one knee.

It was the first breakfast they had separately during all these days. Dean wasn't sure if Cas even had eaten anything before Dean got up or if he just left the kitchen because Dean kept making him uncomfortable.

\- Good job, Winchester, - Dean said to himself, slurping his hot cappuccino out of the mug.

There was clearly something wrong with Dean.  
Cas just got back from the hunt, tired and maybe hurt, and instead of taking care of him, Dean behaved like a literal child, making Cas feel so unsettling that it made him leave.

Maybe if Dean could think twice before making any choices, this wouldn't have happened and they would have had a nice breakfast and made some small talk, instead of avoiding each other in different rooms.

Dean felt the urge to apologize, clean things up and examine this son of a bitch for any wounds or cuts. Cas doesn't complain when he is hurt, so Dean usually has to make Cas point out all the painful places so he could help him bandage them or patch him up with stitches.

The previous time Cas was human, this whole healing thing didn't work well either. Neither physically nor mentally. He used to stare at one point for minutes, drowning in his thoughts or he would irrationally leave the bunker in the middle of the night to, as he said it himself, "clear his head". He avoided Dean as much as he could, not even maintaining eye contact with him, so that Dean was left to guess if Cas was listening to him every time they talked or if he simply zoned out again.

And seeing Cas getting back into this mode, losing himself in his own thought, made Dean worry about him, trying to zap him back as soon as he notices that familiar blank stare.

It was hard and emotionally draining and it kept happening again. Cas - confused and human, Dean - doing his best to help the angel out.

Dean finally finished his coffee and got to wash the mug and a couple of other dirty dishes Cas left there, when his phone rang.

\- Hey, Dean, got some big news, - Sam's cheerful voice greeted from the other side, the sound of TV rustled in the background.

\- Spill 'em out, - Dean replied and glanced in the direction of the hall, trying to spot Cas. He wasn't anywhere to be seen.

\- We finished it all. The witches, their guild, we wiped them clean.

\- Hold on, seriously? Already? - Dean shouted in delight, walking into the hallway, - It was pretty fast, good job!

\- Yeah, thanks. Garth put down five in a row and burned their whole mansion down. That was so epic, you should've been there!

Dean let out a small chuckle, hearing Sam talking with so much joy about that. Things like that always keep reminding him about Sam actually being a few years younger. He might have grown (or to be fair, overgrown) in height, but on the inside he still was that easily impressed twelve year old kid, who was fascinated by every case Dean and Dad had during their hunting trips. Sam always stared at both of them as if they were war heroes, who would come home with honor instead of those who had to wait until bodies started to drop more often so they could figure out where the monster was with some ease.

That stare was the only thing that made Dean go back to hunting again and again. The thing that convinced him that he was doing more good than bad. That he was useful.

\- What about Lucifer? Do you know where he is? - Dean asked, snapping back to reality.

Sam let out an even happier sigh, apparently pouring some liquid in the glass as Dean heard the familiar sound.

\- Even better with that, to be honest. Apparently Satan decided to take a long space trip for an indefinite period of time and is surely isn't planning on going back any time soon. The witches "kindly shared" that he was saying some stuff about starting his own world somewhere out there. So until we can travel through the universe, I guess there's not much we can do.

\- That is... um.. interesting. Who would have thought that the devil prefers being a spaceman rather than a pain in our asses for once. The best Christmas gift ever.

Sam laughed and apparently retold the joke to Garth, who let out an even louder laugh, slamming the nearest surface as he always does.

\- So when are you planning on coming back? - Dean asked after they went quiet.

\- We'll take a nap soon and start driving closer to the evening I think. If the weather is nice and nothing else happens I'm sure we'll make it to the bunker by the morning.

\- Okay, good luck with it then, - Dean was about to hang up, when Sam interrupted him.

\- Dean, hold on, - he suddenly went serious, the sound of his steps echoed as he assumingly walked to the other room, - Have you talked to Cas recently? How is he doing?

\- Cas is fine... I guess. Why?

Sam got quiet for a second and then continued:

\- He called me last night when you had a fever and he seemed upset.. No, VERY upset with.. one thing. He told me something super personal and I said to keep it a secret but thinking about it now.. I was probably wrong.

\- What are you talking about, man? - asked Dean, trying to find some sense in Sam's words.

\- Just talk to him, okay? And please, please don't get mad at him.

\- You really won't tell me what's this all about? - Dean tried.

\- Nah. Cas will tell you if he wants to. It's a secret after all. - Sam didn't gave in.

\- Okay, whatever. See you tomorrow.

\- Good luck, bye.

"Cas indeed seemed to be upset and he acted all weird the whole morning. Something definitely happened last night. "

Returning a phone back in his pocket, Dean focused his attention on the turn to the library. It seemed especially quiet there.

Cas likes to mumble while he reads his tiny poetry book, only a few words reaching Dean's ear while he works. He usually tries very hard to recognize any of them, just to understand what Cas reads as if trying to understand his thoughts better.

And sometimes he succeeds.

He heard Cas reading the same words over and over again, which made Dean think of two things: either Edgar Poe only writes about his dreams or Cas reads the same thing all the time, cause the word "dream" is the only one Dean can always make out from that quiet gibberish.

He once tried to ask Cas to read for him or at least tell him what genre he prefers. But Cas, instead of answering the question, got even quieter and looked a bit scared, so Dean didn't push, understanding that it made the whole thing too intimate for him to share with anybody.

Dean would never want to make Cas do something he didn't want to. So he simply let this topic go, not wanting it to grow into another stupid fight.

He walked into the library, and saw Cas sorting the books in alphabetical order after Dean screwed them up again two days ago. Standing on tiptoes, he reached up, moving a dusty brown book between the two black ones, his baggy sweater making him look like a square.

Dean found it cute.

\- Hey, - he said, getting in the chair. Cas remained silent, continuing to rearrange the books, - Sam called. He said he's gonna be here tomorrow morning.

\- Yes, I know, - Cas replied coldly, his back still turned to Dean.

\- Good. So.. We have only one day left until he gets back.

\- We do, - confirmed Cas.

"Just said the same thing two times in a row. Very smart" - Dean's inner voice kept interrupting again. Trying his best to ignore it, he continued:

\- You wanna do somethin'? Like movies or games? We can watch whatever crap Sam recommended or just surf the channels until we find something good. Oh, I can also get down to the vault again, try to find some other games we haven't played yet. Something with cards, so you'll enjoy it cause you like cards and...

\- Actually I just wanted to clean up if it's okay. It is a bit messy around, - Cas cut him off.

\- Yeah, sure. I mean if you want to... - Dean went quiet. What the hell was happening between the two of them? It used to feel so free: talking to Cas, asking random questions or simply being around. They had those silly jokes, Cas telling some interesting facts about cooking that he found online, his eyes sparkling brightly. Working on a case together or watching something random on TV late in the evening.

What happened? What? What the hell did Dean do to ruin it?

It felt unbelievably great, living so domestically with Cas.

But he had to ruin it all.

He keeps ruining everything he cares about. Keeps destroying.

"Every touch of you corrupts".

Right.

\- What did I do Cas? - Dean breathed out his voice full of guilt, - Did I make you uncomfortable? Did I said some dumb shit again?

Castiel froze, his hand still reaching for the nearest book. Silence was a sign for Dean to continue.

\- Sam told me you were very upset about something yesterday and you called him to talk about it but I... I don't remember anything I said. I don't even remember talking to you or you coming back in the first place. And I'm sorry if I said something that made you feel bad, I didn't want to hurt you. I mean, you took care of me this whole time and I'm only making you feel uncomfortable over and over again. Please tell me what I did wrong, I want to work it all out.

Cas turned around, facing Dean, his face expression gentle.

\- You did nothing wrong, - he said quietly, still looking directly at Dean, - You were just talking about what you were doing while I was away. You didn't say anything unpleasant, don't worry about it.

Dean furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief:  
\- I don't understand. You are either lying or still hiding something. Why were you upset then? Why did you call Sam?

\- I wasn't. Sam must have misunderstood me. I just told him you had a fever and that I was tired after the hunt. Nothing else, I promise.

\- Did you tell him something personal? He mentioned some kind of a secret or..

\- No! - Cas protested too loudly, making Dean stare at him in shock. Noticing this, Cas cleared his throat, - I mean, not really. I uhm.. shared with him some.. Christmas present ideas. Maybe he wanted to spoil the surprise for you. You know, as a.. joke.

\- Oh. I see, - Dean felt like an idiot. Made a mountain out of a molehill, - Does this mean we still can do something fun in the evening? After we finish working, I mean.

Cas relaxed and smiled softly, finally placing the last book back on the shelf.

\- Sure, Dean.

\- Great, that's great. See you in the evening then?

\- See you.

The angel turned on his heels and exited the room. He was limping visibly.

***

The buzzing in Dean's head was the signal for him to take a break. He didn't know how many hours he spent sitting in one place, his back curved in a weird angle as he tried to solve another ghoul case. He didn't hear Cas anywhere nearby: no rustling, footsteps or that mild Christmas song he usually sings to concentrate while cooking. He must've been a store below sorting through relics and cursed items or he was in the storage and unsuccessfully tried to place all the files at least in some sort of order.

It was 4 p.m. During the winter the sun would normally start setting at that time. Dean got up, stretched his back lazily and went to look for the missing angel.

His deduction wasn't wrong - he found Cas in the storage, sitting on the flour, surrounded by a couple dozens beige files. He was still in his pajamas, messy raven hair pointing in every direction.

\- Hey. Do you need help? - Dean asked, getting down a bit further then usual in order not to freak Cas out with his sudden appearance. But the angel still shrank and quickly closed the file in his hands, glancing at Dean with such terror in his eyes, as if the other one was going to kill him on the spot.

\- What? - Cas asked, covering the file with both hands. Dean got to see the fragment of the title: "Angels and unusual mu-"

\- I said, do you need any help? - Dean repeated himself, trying not to be creepy by asking Cas about something he was clearly trying to hide.

\- Ah, help.. No, I'm already finishing. Give me a couple of minutes and I'll be up.

Dean nodded slightly but felt glued to the place.

"He doesn't want to spend any time around you, huh.

I bet you hurt him pretty bad last night.

Would be funny to watch you trying to fix it."

He rubbed his temples slowly in an attempt to stop this inner monologue from going any further. No matter how much pressure he used, in which direction the circles were going, the voice only seemed to get louder and louder, echo itself in Dean's eardrums. Memories followed: making Cas leave the bunker the last time he was human. The fear, pain, sorrow and guilt in his eyes. Like it was his fault. His fault that Dean is a complete failure. His fault that Dean hurts everything and everyone he touches.

Who he desires to touch.

\- I've been thinking, - Dean tried to begin the conversation in order not to drown in his thoughts, - Maybe we should do something different this evening.

\- What do you mean? - asked Cas with a question look in his eyes, - I thought we were having fun with our usual entertainment.

\- Yeah, sure, it's fun. But we watched almost all the movies I wanted to show you. And Monopoly seemed to get a bit boring, don't you think? - he paused, - Especially with you winning all the time. That's not fair man, I always end up with no property left.

Cas looked at him and smiled softly. The first time he smiled that day and it reminded Dean why this tiny gesture always makes his heart glow.

\- What do you want to do then? - the literal Angel asked, stuffing all the files back on the shelf.

Dean probably should have had a valid plan on how to distract themselves before offering anything new. He mentally punched himself for acting so irrationally. There wasn't enough time to actually think about anything else, so he did the only thing he considered himself an actual master at - improvisation.

\- Why don't we... Go out. For a walk.

\- You mean out of the bunker? - Cas asked, hoping Dean was just messing around.

\- Yeah, - Dean confirmed, crossing his arms on his chest, - How much time did we spent locked here after all? Two weeks? More? Don't you think we deserve to get some fresh air?

\- Dean, you JUST started to recover. This is the first day you are even able to eat properly without abruptly throwing out your guts. - Castiel replied angirly.

\- Oh, c'mon, Cas, it wasn't that bad..

\- No Dean. It was, - Cas cut him off, - Trust me, it was. Two weeks ago it was, one week ago too, three days ago, yesterday - take a pick. And I'm so tired of seeing you feeling bad and walking around like a lifeless copy of yourself, okay? - he took a deep breath to calm himself down and continued quietly, - Let's just do something else today, please? I don't want to see you get hurt.

\- Cas, - Dean got a bit closer to him and gently squeezed the angel's shoulder. He waited for a couple of seconds and then softly began, - It will be alright. I checked - there won't be any snow storms or heavy winds. It's a perfect day to get out of here. And I promise, we won't be there for a long period of time and we will turn back as soon as you say so.

\- Dean.., - Cas tried to interrupt him, but the man continued.

\- I know you are worried and that you want me to get better, - Dean couldn't keep his eyes off of Cas at this point, - I know that. But by locking me up I might actually get worse, you know. You said it yourself - regular meals and sleep schedule, rest and fresh air are the best ways to get well sooner, right?.

Seeing that Cas was still hesitant Dean added:

\- Let's just give it a try. Cause I have a feeling that I'm already forgetting how snow even looks like.

Cas kept quiet, looking at Dean pensively for a couple of seconds but then sighed dramatically and replied:

\- Fine. But we turn back as soon as I decide that it's enough.

Upon hearing this Dean's eyes instantly lit with joy and he wrapped both of his arms around Cas' shoulders in a tight hug,  
\- Thank you, thank you, thank you! Cas, you are the best!

The angel smiled softly and closed his eyes, resting his right hand on Dean's shoulder blade. Dean felt him relax almost immediately due to that touch. The uncomfortable tension that had been following them around the whole morning disappeared completely and Dean finally could breathe fully.

***

\- You are... Um... Bright, - Dean acknowledged, looking Cas up and down. Letting him go shopping all by himself was probably one of the worst mistakes Dean has ever made. Cas got a full palette of colors on him - from shining red boots, which seemed to be at least two sizes bigger than needed, cause they tried their best to fall down from his ankles with every step he made, to bulky blue down jacket and neon green gloves with tiny pompoms on the sides.

\- Is there something wrong? - Cas asked, adorably tilting his head to the side. Dean couldn't help but smile.

\- No, not at all. You look um.. Nice., - he went quiet for a second and then, finally spotting what was missing, added, - Where's your scarf?

\- My scarf, - Cas looked down hoping that the scarf would magically appear on its own, - I don't have one.

\- Yeah, exactly. Who even buys a winter jacket with no actual collar? Where did you put your scarf?

\- I don't have a scarf.

\- Like, at all? - Dean asked in disbelief and mebtally noted to buy this dumbo some new clothes later.

\- Yes. At all.

\- Gosh, - the man rubbed his palm across his forehead, - You'll have to take mine then.

Dean lowered his jacket's zipper and untied his long brown scarf that he was usually wearing underneath it. He took a step towards Cas, who started to seem stressed and scared again.

-Relax, it won't kill you. Tilt your head up a little, - he gently grabbed Cas' chin and raised it up. Their eyes met.

Cas was always the one who completely ignored personal space - always sits too close, stares with his deep blues or goes through Dean's things without asking in advance. It became something so usual that Dean almost stopped paying any attention to it. The lack of personal space simply became their "thing", something Dean regularly expects when Cas is nearby.

But this time was different.

It was Dean who allowed himself a little extra touch, his warm breath gently brushing Cas' cheek as he carefully wrapped the scarf around his neck and couldn't help but glance at the angel who embarrassingly avoided any eye contact. It felt so private between the two of them, so natural, as if they did that over a hundred times already and this one was no different than the previous ones.

Cas looked adorable. His beanie covered his eyebrows, and contrast clothing - the rest of his body, leaving only a part of his face exposed. He hid his glance under his lashes, still keeping his head up, obediently giving Dean access to his neck.

For a moment Dean wanted to risk it all - their walk, their friendship, that whole nine years of clownery around Cas or respect of his brother - to risk everything just to lift the angel's head a few inches higher and bite into his cherry colored lips.

The temptation was too much to handle.

Too much to ask for.

Cas would never feel the same way. He just couldn't. Angels don't feel love the same way humans do. Dean knew what he signed up for when he caught feelings for Cas a couple of years ago. He knew it all from the beginning - how hopeless it all was, how wrong and reckless it is to desire someone you could never have. But with Cas it just felt so safe, so protected and so... warm to be around.

And maybe, in some parallel universe where Cas was a human, it could all work out. They could have a nice white-fence future together. Build a house together. Plant a tree. Go out any time they would even want to.

But not in this reality. Definitely not in this one.

It was simply impossible.

Dean's job. Cas' nature. These were the things Dean felt too weak to fight against. So he gave up and moved on, trying so hard to bury this guilty wish inside of him.

He wrapped two last layers of the scarf around Cas' nose and mouth making him finally take a questioning look at Dean.

\- So you won't get cold, - Dean said, raising up the collar of his jacket to replace the missing scarf, - Let's go.

***  
The sun just began to set below the horizon when a chill wind greeted Dean's bare cheeks. He was right - he seemed to forget what snow looks like. For some reason, in his memory, the snow became faded, even to some extent matte, like a flat canvas, which only purpose was to cover the largest area possible. To cover the grass, the ground, any sticked out rock or sinked pit. To align every asperity. To make them flat. Make it all perfect.

So Dean moved forward, his legs gently diving into the sparkly white mass, which reflected golden in the setting sun rays.

\- It's so beautiful, - Dean whispered, hearing Cas' rustling steps behind his back.

\- It really is, - he responded, stepping closer.

At some point Dean must've lost the track of time, staring there at the surrounding, cause Cas already moved forward, leaving Dean a couple of steps behind.

\- Where do you want to go? - the angel asked, lifting his head a bit to meet Dean's eyes, - It's getting dark so it's better if we don't go far.

\- I know, - Dean nodded, - But I have something planned, don't worry about it.

\- Whatever you want, - Cas said, smiling softly. He stuffed his hands in his jacket's pockets and followed Dean who seemed to had gotten distracted again.

The barrait visible path, which Dean chose as soon as the two of them stepped out of the bunker, quickly transformed into a wide and noticeable one, leading to the nearest park. On any other occasion Dean probably would have found this path as cliche and cheesy as possible, but for the first time in forever his head wasn't full of anything that could stop him from what he wanted. Even if it seemed so basic.

There was no grand apocalypse approaching, deaths of his friends remained far behind in the past, Sam was away and safe. And Cas... Cas was right there. There was no grief, loss or failure dragging Dean's soul down in its own personal hell. There was only faith and hope.

For once he wasn't scared of the nearest future.

\- Are you cold? - Cas asked, gently stopping Dean from going further by grabbing his elbow, - You seem to have shrunken a bit.

\- Nah, I'm fine, just got lost in my head, you know, - the man explained.

\- I see. Nature sometimes affects people this way - makes them thoughtful. I read about it in a book, but I thought it was just a saying to make the text appear more colorful.

Dean looked down at Cas. Maybe "nature affected him too".

\- You seem to enjoy reading, - Dean claimed.

\- I do. I find it... pleasant. Books store people's souls in them, their mind, their troubles or happiness. I suppose an author always leaves a piece of themselves inside their creation. This is probably one of the ways for humans to become immortal or become a God in their own worlds. It fascinates me.

\- I heard some authors used to write their works with blood instead of ink, - Dean added, keeping an eye on Cas. The angel almost glowed while talking about something as common as books. So Dean couldn't help but consume every drop of Cas' spark with his gaze.

\- I heard about it too. I find it poetic. The way humans tend to hurt themselves over and over again by making something beautiful out of it... I can't imagine angels doing the same thing, - Cas paused, clutching his hands, - They would rather destroy the beauty by saving a couple of thousand years in their life span. Which is very little by angelic measures.

\- You talk about them as if they are completely different species, buddy, - Dean observed, noticing Cas' tension. When "the angel" kept silent Dean added:  
\- You still consider yourself an angel, right?

Cas raised his head and looked at the dark starry sky. The light dots reflected in his eyes. He faked a smile. It looked tired.

\- I don't know anymore, - he said, - I was sure before, but now it seems more confusing than I ever thought it might be. I know that I'm not a human because I can sense my grace pumping through Jimmy's veins and my essence being ageless. Although I'm not an angel either because I experience human perception. I feel..., - Cas lowered his head, hiding his face from Dean's gaze, - I feel emotions, I feel doubts, I feel anger or fear. Now there's also hunger and need for sleep.

I don't belong anywhere and I don't have anything I can call a family anymore.

I became something my brothers and I used to call an abomination.

And I'm scared of it.

Dean stopped harshly and grabbed Cas by his shoulder, turning him around.

\- Don't say something so awful about yourself, Cas. You don't have a family? Sam and I are your family. We are here for you no matter what and you know that.

\- I do, - the "angel" remarked.

\- Exactly. And you are nothing close to an abomination. What makes you even think that way? - Dean asked in disbelief. Castiel was perfect as well as every single thing about him. He beamed like the brightest star, blinding Dean so masterly.

Or he was a perfection. Until he met Dean.

"When he first laid a hand on you he was lost!" - echoed in man's mind.

Until Dean destroyed it.

\- I have my reasons, Dean. But I can assure you that it won't be a problem much longer. I'm planning on taking care of it very soon.

\- What is this supposed to mean? - the man uttered. Cas looked suspicious.

\- Sorry, I can't tell you now, - Cas turned around and looked at the horizon, - Let's go back. I'm getting cold.

***

The whole walk home was quiet so Dean wasn't surprised when Cas didn't say anything as they got inside. The angel then got straight to his room, closing the door almost right in front of Dean's face, who thought they headed to the kitchen together. It was a sign that dinner will be eaten the same way breakfast was - separately.

Dean finished with the meal (well-cooked pasta with cheese sauce and chicken), washed the rest of the dishes and made his way through the hallway to his own room when he heard some weird noises coming from Cas' one.

Dean walked closer, trying to recognize the sound. As soon as he reached the door frame it all became clear. He was hearing weak sobbs.

\- Cas? Are you okay? - Dean tried to pull the door handle, pressing his head to the wooden surface. It didn't work.

There was no answer. Cas went quiet.

\- Cas, I swear to god if you don't say anything I'll break down this door and-

\- I'm fine, - Dean heard Cas' voice and the rustling of paper, - I am just... treating my wounds from the hunt with Arwin, don't worry about it.

\- Should I see 'em or..?

\- No, no! - Cas cut him off again. He sounded panicked, - I can handle this. There's nothing serious anyway.

\- Are you sure? - Dean tried again, hoping Cas would answer differently. But the angel blocked the attempt again.

\- Yes. It's been a long day. Good night.

\- Night, - Dean simply replied and went to his own room. Cas seemed even more suspicious.

***

\- I thought I could control it, - Cas cried quietly, staring down at the sleeping blond man. He looked peaceful, - I thought I was stronger than this. I thought I could fight my feelings towards you or at least hide them. But every time I see you my guard goes down like a house of cards and I only keep hurting you.

Castiel was sitting on his knees next to the bed, Dean serenely sniffed on his pillow, tightly hugging a blanket.

\- I'm sorry I have to do this now... When Christmas is just around the corner. I know you wanted us to spend it together, exchange gifts and have an actual celebration, but it will get better if I step aside for a little while.

The angel wiped a running stream of tears from his cheek, it quickly got replaced by another one.

\- I still have hope that we can be the way we were before. Just friends and family... without me messing everything up by being so greedy and egocentric. And that's why I have to do this. That's why I have to leave and try my best to get this curse off of me because this is the only thing I'm still counting on.

He put a hand on Dean's scarf still wrapped around his own neck. It smelled like pine needles, sea buckthorn and some other scent Cas would probably never get to recognize. He unwrapped the scarf and carefully placed it on Dean's bedside drawer. For the last time he ran his fingers through Dean's fair hair and took a step back.

The final touch. The final look. He didn't know when he would be back or if he would ever be.

The final three steps from the bed to the door. The last tear on his cheek.

He grabbed a fully stuffed duffel bag.

The last weak painful smile in the empty air.

\- _I love you so much_.

The last quiet confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know your opinion down below!  
> Merry Christmas everybody I hope you are having a great time! :D


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !!! TRIGGER WARNING !!!  
> Graphic description of death.
> 
> Edited by JustLee.

\- Dean, literally nothing bad happened. You started panicking without any particular reason. - Sam said, crossing his arms on his chest tiredly, - It's been only a couple of hours, just give Cas some spacetime.

Dean furrowed his brows and sighed, glancing at his younger brother in annoyance who seemed to be repeating the same thing over and over again.

\- First of all: "spacetime"? Who says that? Who are you? Einstein? Secondly: I'm not panicking. I'm just, - he paused, clenching his left  hand into a first and putting it into the right one. He was indeed panicking and  had been for the whole day , but there was no way he was going to casually say it out loud. 

Not then, not to Sam. At least not yet. 

\- I'm worried. - Dean chose the safest way, - Cas hasn't left his room today and.. He never greeted you or took a shower. God, he didn't even eat.

\- Maybe he doesn't need to anymore. - Sam replied with an exhale. - That curse that he has. We still don't know anything about it. I tried to identify it, but those types of spells are super rare and complicated since angels weren't exactly often visitors on Earth. It has probably disappeared  so give him at least a day to gather his strength. 

\- He was eating just yesterday, Sam! You know it can't disappear THAT fast. Yeah, he didn't eat a lot... Probably even too little, - he added quietly, - But he was still pretty much human if you ask me. 

\- Dean, even if he is still a human, you can't just force him to be around. As I said before, it's only been a couple of hours-

\- Eight hours, Sam. Eight! Does not sound like "a couple" to me, - the man lowered his head to check his watch. The clock hands continued to treacherously point at 5:50 pm. Dean wished they were lying. 

-It's been exactly eight hours since you got back and ten hours since I woke up. And all this time he didn't make at least the slightest bit of a noise. So yeah, I have every right to be worried. 

Dean expected his brother to continue arguing but he just sat down on a chair and yawned, exhausted , covering his mouth with his hand. Sam looked like he got a bit older. It happens after every hunt they attend, doesn't matter if it’s an easy one or not, they always come back looking slightly different. It might be a new wrinkle on the corner of their eyes, a tiny scar on the cheek or a callus on the index finger caused by a frequent trigger pulling. Doesn't matter. Every hunt leaves its trace on them both physically and mentally. This is just another price to pay. 

This is a price Sam had to pay while Dean was having fun playing Monopoly. 

\- You better be going to bed, - the older brother said, tapping the younger one on the shoulder, - I'll figure it out myself. 

\- What? It's only six p.m. I'm a big boy, Dean, I can stay up late. 

\- I'm not saying you can't, - he replied, giving Sam a reassuring little smile, - I say you should. You drove for hours through a blizzard and got drunk with Garth yesterday. Which is very irrational by the way. 

\- Oh c'mon, like you haven't done that before. - Sam muttered. 

\- Sam, what are you? Four? If I did something it doesn't mean you need to run out and immediately repeat it. I thought you were old enough to understand that. - Dean replied with a sarcastic smirk. 

\- Whatever. 

\- All I'm saying: I would very much appreciate it if you walk to bed now and not make me carry your heavy ass there. Capiche? 

Sam raised his eyes to look at Dean, trying to read his brother's face , doubt somewhere on his mind . He mentally begged Sam not to notice his sneaky glances toward Cas's room every other second, but seeing his lips confidentially curl into one of those smug smiles, Dean realized he got uncovered. 

\- Capiche. - Sam agreed without making any additional comments. It made Dean breathe out with relief. - But if anything bad happens - you wake me up. 

\- Yeah, sure. - Dean said quickly and lifted Sam up by his upper hand, - Good night, bitch. 

\- Night, jerk, - Sam smiled, some extra wrinkles formed between his eyebrows.

That is what's new. He got older again. 

***

As soon as Sam's door made a familiar thud, Dean lowered himself on the couch, leaving a spot for Cas out of habit. It all got very quiet again, only the barely audible buzzing of the fridge coming somewhere from the kitchen tried to fill the empty space. 

Cas would've mumbled if he was there. Breathed or turned the pages. Anything. 

It's the first time Dean noticed that a damn thing can make some kind of a noise. It was always Cas who “filled” the room: on the couch, by the table, in the silence, during breakfast. And without him nearby everything felt incomplete.  _ Dean felt incomplete _ . 

But Cas never left Dean's thoughts though. Constantly in his head on repeat like a broken record. Cas' soft smile, his voice gently saying Dean's name, him wrinkling his nose while he's washing the dishes, his distinctive confused look when Dean's making another pop culture reference. The way his glance goes foggy when he's reading as if he travels to some other dimension in his own head and disappears almost completely, leaving just enough of his essence to warm up the couch. 

And it fascinated Dean. More than anything he could ever think of. The way that powerful godly being, the angel of the lord, continued to shine so brightly even after losing his grace. It didn't matter for him, not in the slightest bit. With or without grace, angel or human - Cas is always incredible, magical, mesmerizing. 

Dean's thoughts cut off abruptly when his glance caught the sight of Cas' door. One tiny knock, a couple of steps, a small talk, and Dean will be able to figure it out. Figure everything out. 

He not only wants to, he  _ needs _ to. It's Cas. It's his best friend and he's clearly not doing so well. 

But why does Dean feel so anxious of trying to talk to him? 

Is it because he's afraid Cas wouldn't want him around? Or finding out that the reason why Cas feels so down is actually Dean himself. 

Because Dean always is, isn't he? He's the one screwing everything and everyone up. So broken and so wrong. 

Before he could think his legs moved on their own, crossing the hallway towards Cas' room in just a brief moment. 

It was when his knuckles met the wooden door when Dean understood what he was doing. 

He was making it all right. He was taking a shot. If there's even a slightest chance he can make Cas feel better, then damn yeah he's going to take it.

He'll prove them all wrong - his dad, every demon or angel that tries to dig inside his soul to hurt him, damn, even himself - he can still fix all the wrong if he tries enough. He just has to be good. 

_ He can be good for Cas. With Cas. He just has to try.  _

Dean walked in. The air from the room gave him sudden chills. It all was swollen with darkness, only a tiny bit of light entering from the hall. 

" _He must be sleeping_ ", - Dean thought, making a step closer to the bed. 

_ He can be good for Cas. He can wake Cas up without freaking him out.  _

Dean lowered himself on the floor next to where Cas' bed was supposed to be. He rubbed his hand across his eyes to make them focus in the dark. It didn't help. 

_ He can be good for Cas. _

He lifted his hand above the bed, hesitating. Why is he being such a coward? It's Cas. Dean can make it all right this time. 

_ He can be good. For Cas.  _

He gently lowered his palm to rest it on the angel's shoulder. It absurdly fell down and met the cold covers. The bed was empty. Cas was gone. 

_ He can be good.  _

\- Cas? - Dean asked, turning his head around towards the table. His eyesight still protested, everything was dark. 

He got up, his head made a disgusting swing. 

\- Fuck, - Dean cursed, pressing his palm to his forehead. 

_ Good.  _

When he opened his eyes again he was able to see. There was nobody by the table, chairs were put almost at ninety degrees toward each other if they were never even touched. 

_ Good?  _

\- Cas?! - Dean shouted, turning around. All empty. Nothing. No Cas, no his things. It looked so unnatural, almost sanitized. 

The wardrobe doors were wide open, revealing two lonely hangers inside, no clothes on them. 

Was Cas even there? Or Dean just made it all up in his head?

_ Was he ever good?  _

\- Cas! - he yelled, knowing it was pointless. 

***

Sam ran in as soon as Dean yelled Castiel's name again, his throat hurting from the volume. 

\- What happened? - Sam asked quickly, looking around and grabbing his brother by the shoulder, - Where is he? 

Dean didn't answer, his face looked pale, only a few drops of sweat on his forehead revealed that he just let out that horrible scream.

\- Dean, get up, - Sam muttered, pulling his brother by the sleeve. Dean didn't protest at all but was left glued to the ground. - Dean, c'mon, - Sam tried again, his voice shaky from the fear. 

\- He's gone... - Dean whispered, almost inaudible. 

\- What? 

\- He left, - the man added even more quietly, still staring at one spot. 

\- Let's get you up, shall we? - his younger brother pulled him up under the shoulders and Dean obediently followed the movement.

Suddenly his whole face changed: his eyes seemed to get even darker as he lowered his eyebrows, the cheekbones sharpened when he squeezed his jaw tensely, his lips curled in a shape that indicated anger. Dean quickly pulled his hand out of Sam’s supporting hold and walked out of the room, almost running.   
  
\- We are leaving. He couldn’t have gotten far.   
  
\- Will you explain what is going on? - the younger brother shouted at the other one’s back, trying to catch up with the older one who was swiftly running up the stairs to the garage door, - Did someone take him? 

Dean ignored him completely and got inside, firmly closing the garage door with a loud thud. Sam didn't have a choice but to follow him.   


\- You can’t expect me to read your mind! What are we going to do? Where are we going? Where is he?

\- This fucker left, okay?! - Dean yelled, turning his face to Sam, - He left even before you came back! 

\- What? Why? - his older brother’s raised voice made him get closer to the car.

\- “ To sort something out” as he called it himself. By the way he described this “something” he must’ve decided to try to get that damn curse off of him on his own. - Dean threw the fully stuffed backpack into the backseat and walked around the Impala to get in. Sam got on the shotgun.

\- But I searched and I couldn’t find anything… - he said, getting in.

Dean started the car and replied:

\- Exactly. We need to find him before he does anything stupid. 

***

Baby roared as Dean pressed heavily on the gas. His fingernails impaled into the leather of the steering wheel leaving marks for him to discover later. It took the man a couple of seconds to clear his head and blink a couple of times only to realise: the blur wasn’t only in front of his eyes or in his head, it was also outside the Impala, right before the windshield. The blizzard raged, raising from the ground and carrying around frozen chunks of thick snow mass and pieces of ice.

It all made a spiteful howl and deafened Dean just enough to cover whatever Sam was trying to shout at him.

Why did he even take his younger brother with him? It’s not like Sam should be involved in any kind of Dean’s messes. Especially after he screwed everything up all by himself.

After he hurt Cas. After he made it so impossible to be around him it actually made Cas leave.   
  
It’s Dean’s fault. And it made him angry.   
  
“ _ This is what’s gonna kill you after all, boy. You are too emotional to think straight when needed and too sentimental to let people go easily. I’m starting to think you’ll never become a proper hunter _ ” - his father’s words resonated in his mind and that horrible chapter of Dean’s life made itself known again.   
  


***

  
The regular hunt - seventeen year old Dean and his father tracking a pack of werewolves in Arizona, apparently those who broke loose the last time they were there. Where just a couple of months ago Dean met a brown eyed boy named Oscar and couldn’t stop dreaming about him ever since even though he tried to rip him out of his head.   
  
The way Dad made Sam stay at Bobby’s and woke Dean up at four a.m. just to get there earlier made Dean suspicious. It’s not like he had a choice after all, so he did the only thing he was supposed to do - follow and cover Dad up while he’s going to go investigate the werewolves’ lair.    
  
John  didn’t once turn the radio on on their way there so Dean spent almost the whole ride staring outside the window with similar looking sprouses passing by. He got lightheaded closer to the end and soon fell asleep. He’ll need the energy later so Dad didn’t even protest.

  
They arrived at the motel late in the evening, only one lonely street light showing them a path to its entrance. Dean climbed out of the car, yawned lazily and began to stretch his legs as the sight of a bright neon sign board of the roadside bar caught his eyes.    
  
He immediately froze, the sight made him go round-eyed . It’s the same bar - his and Oscar’s bar. Dean turned around, focusing on the motel - which makes it their motel.   
  
God, please, not this. Out of every crusty motel in that forgotten city they chose to stop in exactly that one. The boy’s knees began to slightly shake as the memories of choking on his own blood and his Dad almost shooting him appeared as a clear photograph inside his head.   
  
Did Dad bring him there to smash his skull against the wall again just because he decided so? Did he really take such a long trip only to remind Dean how much power over his son he actually holds?   
  
He surely didn’t do anything ‘wrong’ this time, did he? Or was it the way Dean greeted Dad after the hunt the other day that made him angry?   
  
Dad must know better. He must’ve somehow found out about Dean’s dreams and if so he has every right punishing the boy - he knows he is disgusting.

The same old man on the register greeted John as if they were already long-time friends and got a key to a room with a wide toothless smile. It took Dean only two turns to realise - they were headed to the same room they booked before. That one room that easily could’ve become the last thing he saw at the end of his pathetic life.

  
They got inside and John immediately crushed on the bed, leaving his son standing on the porch, cold sweat all over his spine. The blood didn't come off the walls completely - a huge washy red spot on the wallpaper in the left corner of the room made Dean gulp in fear. He should’ve used more soup the last time.   
  
He looked at his father, his face looked calm and exhausted at the same time - he might not wake up until tomorrow morning. It was the best news Dean could’ve hoped for.

Suddenly he felt sick, his whole body started shaking, his gut made a painful twist and tears appeared in his eyes. He wanted to scream, to run away, to hide underneath something that would cover him whole. With his father right next to him in that room Dean felt more in danger than on the most dangerous hunt. He wished the universe would just swallow him whole at that moment.   
  
Dizziness became almost unbearable when Dean sprinted out of the room - Dad would be mad if Dean threw up in the same room he was in. The hall was empty and quiet, only an electrical buzzing of a lonely light bulb cut through the silence. He leaned on the wall, it immediately passed a wave of coolness and calmed him down a bit. His breath slowed down as he closed his eyes trying to absorb as much cold from the wall as he possibly could. It’s okay if Dean didn’t get to sleep that day, he slept in the car anyway, that should be enough.    
  
\- Dean? Is that you? - a slightly familiar low voice asked as something soft touched the boy’s shoulder. He almost jumped off the wall in surprise when he opened his eyes wide, turning to the source of the sound.    
  
“ _ Oh no _ .” 

  
Dark curls fell down the guy’s broad shoulders, partly covering a white sweater underneath. The guy was holding a paper bag with both hands. Dean looked up, praying he was mistaken but those eyes in front of him only reassured him in his assumption.   
  


Yeah, Dean would never mix them up with any other eyes, they were too beautiful to be mistaken so easily.   
  
\- Oscar. - the boy only breathed out in response, still not being able to tear his eyes away. Dean felt like he saw a ghost. Was it another dream? It had to be, this can’t be happening in real life.    
  
\- Hey there. - Oscar greeted and smiled, tiny dimples appearing on his face. God, he looked so wonderful. Dean’s dreams were worse, dream-Oscar is nothing compared to a real one. - Did you come to visit someone?   
  
“ _ No, I came to help my father kill someone _ ”.   


But instead he answered:   
\- Um, not really. My Dad got a quick job nearby and I’m helping him with it.   
  
At the mention of Dean’s dad Oscar visibly flinched, averting his eyes from the boy to the floor.    
  


\- I’m sorry, I shouldn't have left you alone with him after what he did. I guess I panicked and couldn’t think straight, but-   
  
To his own surprise Dean made a short chuckle which caused Oscar to immediately flash his gaze from the cheap tiles on the floor back on Dean.   
  
\- What’s so funny? - he asked.   
  
\- It’s stupid, I’m sorry, - Dean responded with a smile he desperately tried to hide.   
  
\- No, what is it? - Oscar insisted, relaxing a bit. Dean’s reaction must have comforted him at some point. 

\- Nah, man, don’t mind me. 

\- Oh c’mon. Please? - the guy asked again, tilting his head a bit lower, continuing to stare at Dean.    
  
\- I mean, - he chuckled again, - I think we both weren’t thinking that  _ straight _ at the moment, if you know what I mean.    
  


For a couple of seconds they were standing in silence: Dean - regretting he even thought this joke was funny, Oscar - furrowing his eyebrows and staring somewhere ahead of him, as if he was trying to solve a complicated math problem. Then his face lit up almost in an instant and he began to giggle, clutching his paper bag tightly. His cheeks lit up with a bit of pink as the dimples became even more noticeable. At one point he must have squeezed the bag way too tightly: it’s corners quickly parted at the seams with a characteristic sound and revealed all it’s insides on the floor. 

Two plastic containers hit the tiles and the sound of it spreaded all the way down the hall. 

\- Fuck! - Dean cursed, picking them up as fast as he could and immediately after that - stacking them back in Oscar’s hand. - You should go.    
  
\- But I wanted to apologize and-   
  
\- You are forgiven, no time for that, - Dean cut the guy in a rush. - He might have woken up.    
  
\- Who? Your Dad? Is he there?   
  
\- Dammit, Oscar! He’ll kill you if he sees you! Go! - the boy in fear looked at the guy who seemed to understand his concern. He already took a step forward towards the hall, but quickly turned on his heels and handed Dean one of the plastic containers. 

\- You are not a vegan but you look like you haven’t eaten for ages so, hopefully, this will work too. - he paused for a second, but seeing Dean’s panicked stare glued to the hotel room door, simply added, - Goodbye, it was nice seeing you. 

He gave Dean that sorry gaze again and smiled tenderly. 

\- Goodbye. - the boy answered, knowing it will be the last time he would ever see him. Doesn’t matter how much it hurts - the further he is - the safer. It’s for his own good. Getting close to Dean is the same as playing russian roulette, anyways. The chances of surviving might seem high but it’ll always land on the bullet, no matter how much Dean wished the opposite.

_ He always wants something he can’t have.  _

When he raised his eyes again Oscar was already gone. Only the plastic container remained as  of the guy’s presence . 

Dean stayed there for a couple of seconds, just listening. Dad would have looked out already if he woke up, which meant: Dean was safe. 

He walked to the Impala and lowered his hip on it’s hood, clutching the container so strongly as if it tried to escape. The boy breathed out and slowly opened it. There was a simple salad inside: tiny slices of cucumbers, tomatoes and fresh greens actually somehow made Dean realise he was, in fact, hungry. He managed a quick smile and began to eat it as the night was slowly passing by.

***

Dean’s Dad was the exact person you could never call punctual. There were times he promised Dean to be off for a hunt for just a couple of days max, but those days quickly turned into four weeks without any supplies or money. Hunter’s life is never caring about your timetable or your plans - it comes like a wave: when it desires to, but it’s the same as a sea - never leaves completely. Dean understood it and tried to adapt to it but the painful hunger in his stomach and Sammy’s unstoppable crying made it so much harder to deal with. 

So when Dad emerged from a motel room at exactly six a.m. all packed up and ready for a road Dean was genuinely surprised. 

Then the usual circle started: the victim’s body examination while pretending to be FBI agents, the search for possible witnesses, Dad’s cursing every time something doesn’t add up and the need to eat nothing more but a single meal during the day. It was beginning to darken outside when they drove out of the city to the possible location of the wolves’ lair.    
  
It started to rain when the father and the son got out of the car a couple of miles away from the motel they were staying in. Big drops of water fell on Dean’s forehead and left cold traces down to the boy’s chin. He quickly smiled before his Dad would be able to notice - he allowed himself a tiny moment of  tranquility before his finger would sharply press on the trigger and his hands get to be covered in someone’s blood again. 

\- Shit! The rain will wash away all the traces. Hurry up! - John yelled, turning his head into Dean’s direction. They had work to do. 

The dirt under their feet made a chomping noise as they ran forward into the dark forest. The fir trees released their acrid smell under the heavy water drops and filled Dean’s lungs making him slightly dizzy. It could’ve been such a beautiful evening: calm and cozy. Dean and Sam could’ve spent it playing Monopoly and listening to the rain drops hitting Bobby’s house roof. Sam would have told him about that one book he read recently and Dean would male a joke about the main character's weird name. Bobby wouldn’t command them to keep quiet like their father always does when they are being even a slightest bit loud, Bobby would laugh with them and add extra punch lines. Sam would have acted offended but then join their united laughter while completely crushing Dean in the game.    
  
But that would stay in Dean’s memories. After returning from this city the last time Dean started to have random nose bleeds and one time it started right in the middle of a game ruining all the cards he was holding with thick blood. Sam was so scared seeing this happening over and over again but Dean kept saying reassuringly: “ It's okay, as long as we can read what is written here, we can play in peace,- and he calmed down a bit. 

\- You. Stay here!. As soon as I give a signal you run to the left and cover me. Got it? - John whispered, raising an open palm in front of Dean’s face to make him stop. 

\- Yes, sir. 

\- Good, - the man replied and paused for a second. - One more thing. 

Dean looked at his father’s face. It looked terrifying.   
  
\- Shoot everyone you see. They don’t take hostages. Even if the person swears they are still human - you put a bullet in their brain. No exceptions.   
  
-But what if- Dean tried but his father threw a rough glance at him.

_ “But what if we kill innocent people?” _

\- No exceptions.

\- Yes, sir. No exceptions.

Then - a flash. John ran forward, towards the seemingly abandoned shed under an unrealistically gigantic fur tree. Two strong looking men met him in the middle: eyes sparkling bright gold, sharp teeth ready to spill blood. Two gunshots - and both of them are lying on the ground, rainwater filling their open mouths. 

\- I said cover me! - John shouted, enraged, and Dean followed, aiming his shotgun at the other escaping man with a wild stare. Pressure on the trigger - missed, the other one - right through the heart. Burgundy liquid painting the ground underneath with its brightness. Even at night it looked as saturated as always.    
  
Three corpses, four, five, six. They kept coming. Bullets were flying in the air - some got into the house, some into the trees but most of them - inside whoever walked out. 

\- Stop shooting! - someone yelled from the house direction as a barely visible silhouette appeared on the porch. A woman. - Please! I want to go home.

_ “Hostages!” _

\- They’ve been holding us here for the past week! Please, I have children! - the woman cried. - I won’t tell anyone, just please let me get out of he-   
  
John’s shoulders moved roughly and the woman suddenly quietened. A little metal piece entered her rib cage with a tremendous force. He shot her.    
  
\- I will go to the back, you stay here and kill everyone you see. Don’t show any pity for these beasts, the only thing they want is to rip your heart and eat it for dinner. Any movement occurs - you shoot.

Dean freezed, hearing his heartbeat ringing through his ears. Until a couple more figures appeared next to the front door. Calming his panic and grieving for later, now - hunting.

A couple of minutes seemed to pass like hours but after that everything suddenly stopped. The noise of a bullet escaping a gun, people emerging from the house, footsteps inside the house. It’s over. They are done.    
Dean breathed out and pressed his back against the tree, closing his eyes as if in an attempt to erase that woman's cries from his memory. Rain cooled him down, made his boots wet and his fingertips sting a little but it was a wonderful feeling compared to what he just witnessed. He can go back now. Sammy must be worried. 

The sound of uneven footsteps on the porch made Dean shrug in tension. The end is not here yet. He remained with his back pressed against the fir, his breathing quickening again. It was too late for a sudden attack, he needed to let the beast come closer.    
  
He counted the steps in his mind, they seemed weak and stumbled: one, two, tree, stop, another one, five, six, seven. Eight. Nine. 

Ten.

He pushed himself off the tree, raising a gun in the air and shooting someone’s silhouette before his eyes were even able to focus.

A loud blast and then screaming. The sharp sound of something heavy hitting the ground and then difficult breaths. He only hurt it. 

Dean walked closer aiming the gun at the unusually light spot. A white sweater. A bright red spot quickly appeared on the fabric.

He turned his gaze from it to the creature’s head. 

Wet dark curls fell down the guy’s shoulders. His bony palms raised to his collarbones, desperately trying to cover the blood flow. 

Dean looked at the guy’s eyes. His hands began to shake.

Beautiful deep brown eyes looked back at him with terror and hurt. It made Dean gasp sharply and throw the gun away, instantly cupping the guy’s face.

No. No. No. No. No.

\- Oscar!

He pushed his hands on top of Oscar’s, pushing on the red spot as hard as he possibly could. Tears streamed from his eyes, mixing midway with rainwater, and dripped on Oscar’s white knitted sweater. 

Oscar gasped for air as if he was a fish thrown on the surface, his palms were turning colder with each passing second. 

\- No! Please don’t go! - Dean howled and pressed on the wound even harder as the guy squinted his eyes in pain. - Stay!

Dean’s breath became intermittent: the scent of Oscar’s cherry perfume, the iron-like smell of blood and the smell of fresh pine needles burned through his bronchi. It all crawled inside of him, replacing the much needed oxygen. Dean’s head was spinning, his clothes became damp in the rain, but his thoughts, his mind, his words, all his entity was focused on one - Oscar. He didn't know if his inner voice broke out at that point and began to shout the guy’s name out loud but Oscar turned his gaze from the sky and focused on Dean loosening his grip on his own sweater fabric.

\- No! Keep pushing! I’ll help you out, you hear? Everything is going to be alright just keep pu-

\- Dean. - Oscar’s hoarse voice pronounced as his lips curled into something weak and smile-like. The boy looked at him at fear. 

\- It’s okay. - the guy coughed, more blood seeping out with every thrust, - You got to let me go. 

\- No! - Dean cried, biting on his lower lip hardly. The iron smell in the air combined with the iron taste on his tongue. 

\- It only hurts me more, - Oscar managed to smile this time, small dips on his cheeks appearing with it. He took Dean’s hand inside of his icy one and carefully removed it from the wound, - You know it’s over. 

\- But- 

\- I don’t blame you for it. - his eyes began to darken. 

\- Oscar -

_ \- See you on the other side. _

His hands relaxed under Dean’s grip and his gaze turned to the sky, tiny sparkly dots reflected in his blank eyes. 

***

John found Dean curled up on the wet ground next to the pale dead body, shaking. 

\- Get up, we are done here.    
  
Dean stayed glued to the spot. Oscar’s cherry perfume and the iron scent weared off in the rain, only pine needles smell crawled under the boy’s skin.

\- Is it that guy you tried to play family with? - he paused, taking one more step to get a better look at Oscar’s face. - Oh yeah, totally him. 

\- You want to kill me - do it. - Dean uttered through his teeth. He wished he died that night before. Oscar would’ve been alive if Dean died that time.

\- Very dramatic. - John replied mockingly. - You know what,  _ this is what’s gonna kill you after all, boy. You are too emotional to think straight when needed and too sentimental to let people go easily. I’m starting to think you’ll never become a proper hunter. _

Dean kept quiet. These words were the last words he heard next to his dead first love. His eyes began to close as he passed out from cold and stress.

He woke up in the late afternoon the next day, the scent of fir trees still buried under his skin. It followed him anywhere he went years after it happened - never leaving, always there as a reminder of what he did.

_ “Dean smelled like sea buckthorn,  _ **_pine needles_ ** _ and and some other scent Cas still had to figure out”. _  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day and Destiel wedding, everybody!
> 
> Thank you for reding! Please let me know your opinion in the comments down below!


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